The New Recruit
by Kita Samuelle
Summary: Nikita's first two years in training in Section will test everyone's patience...
1. I

_A/N: This is the story of Nikita's two years in training that I previously mentioned in Section's Favorite. I hope to update it every other day for as long as I can, so keep an eye out for it! And yes, I know the title is crappy, I couldn't think of anything else at this point..._

_Disclaimer: I do not own lfn. _

_**The New Recruit**_

Michael slumped in his office chair, his face buried in his hands.

Madeline was calling for him. He couldn't seem to move.

It was today, one year ago, that his life fell apart. When everything changed.

The day that Simone died.

He lifted his weary, sleep deprived body from the seat and slowly managed to make his way to Madeline's office. He can't imagine what she wanted from him, but then again, he didn't really care at this point. He just wanted to get it done, go home. Sleep off this heavy depression that had befallen him.

"We've hadn't had much luck with our new recruit. For a week now she's been violent and rebelling against everything and everyone," Madeline started off, sitting calmly and composed in front of her computer.

Usually he stood. Today he couldn't hold up his weight. The chair was too tempting to resist. "I've heard."

"You've met her already. I'm sure you had enough time to see her stubborn nature. We assigned her to another trainer, but she won't respond. I think she has great potential here, if only she'd start to behave. I think you'd be perfect for her, Michael. Your strict, no nonsense ways would be very well suited for a personality like hers. I know you never trained anyone solo before, but I think she'd be a perfect experiment. I'm sure you're ready."

She let her sentence hang, awaiting a reply from him.

He wasn't in to her games today. He managed to lift himself from the chair. A nod signaled his acknowledgment and reluctant acceptance.

When he reached the door, Madeline called him back. "Michael? How are you holding up today?"

_Terribly. Horribly. I think my heart just leaked out of my chest. Excuse me while I mop that up for you. _"I'm fine."

She nodded with a smile. "Good. Then you can start the training today. She's on level six, room twenty two. Draw up a profile of your training process, then start working it out. Good luck, Michael. Not that you'll need it, of course."

He stared wearily in to her eyes before giving a long blink and heading out.

He had a lot of work to do.

It wouldn't be done today. It wouldn't be done for a long time.

He hated commitments.

He hated today.

He walked down the long stretch of hallways. No one looked his way. No one stopped him. No one spoke to him. They all feared him. It's been like this for a year now. Exactly a year.

He liked it this way. It was quieter. Peaceful.

Less complicated.

His hand reached the door of his office. His sanctuary. Going inside, he locked the door.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Perhaps first impressions really were misleading.

The first time he had ever seen Nikita Wirth, she had been terrified. The next, she was furious and violent. Now she looked serene. Her back was on the ground, her feet resting above her on the bed.

She didn't bother looking up to see who had entered her room. She didn't care.

"Unless you're here to release me back in to the normal world, could you please leave me? I'm busy," her voice was deep, rough. It sounded like she must have a sore throat. Most likely from screaming at her old mentor.

There would be none of that when he was in control.

"Stand up." His voice was soft. He never yelled. The last time he had raised his voice was last year. When...well, that didn't matter now.

She grunted and closed her eyes in disregard.

She obviously didn't know who she was dealing with. He was the best of the best. No one disobeyed him. He'd have to show her who was boss right off the bat. Jurgen would be proud if he knew.

Michael grabbed a chunk of her hair and tugged hard. She let out a scream, but scrambled to her feet to release the pain.

He didn't let go. "I'm going to make this clear. You will obey what I tell you. You will not mouth off. If you don't do what I say, there will be severe consequences. Do I make myself clear?" He was surprised he hadn't fainted from weariness. He hadn't spoken so many words together at once for many months.

Her jaw was set tight, her eyes blazing. She didn't reply.

He took the fistful of hair and yanked it harder. A whimper. Tears from the sharp pain filled her eyes. She nodded, ever so slightly. "I got it, already. Would you let me go now?"

He released her, but a few light blonde strands stayed intertwined in his fingers from pulling. Ignoring it, he walked the length of the room. "Training starts tomorrow. You'll be up by five AM. A minute later and I will pull you out of bed myself. You'll be dressed, ready, and standing by the door when I come in. There won't be any screaming, yelling, complaining or disagreeing." He continued eye contact until he reached the door.

He had made his point. She showed signs of nervousness. Her rapid blinking suggested she was scared. She swallowed hard, not daring to look away.

But he knew she'd get over it. Tomorrow she'd be a devious hell again.

He'd be ready.

But not today. Today he needed to get as far away as he could from Section and everything in it.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Nikita paced. Back and forth, back and forth, the pure white interior of the small room driving her mad.

She had to get out.

In all honesty, she couldn't wait until five in the morning. When she'd be free from this locked room. When she could wreak havoc elsewhere. There was nothing to ruin in here.

She needed out. Badly.

This was worse than prison. She didn't think anything could be. This...place...had proved her wrong. It wouldn't be the last time.

She hated every face she saw here. The smile on Madeline's made her fume. The steel look in Operation's eyes made her want to disobey every order thrown at her.

And this new face. Michael. He angered her most of all.

She couldn't read him. His face was blank. Emotions swam beneath it, but out of reach. He scared her. Angered her. She liked to be in control. With him, she already knew she'd have none.

Something told her that she wouldn't have control anymore. Not after he reigned control of her.

She didn't like this new man. She wished he'd go away and not come back.

OOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOoooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	2. II

Michael returned the next day, as promised. She was dressed in what had been given to her. Had her hair in a bun so he couldn't pull it again. And she was just nearly awake.

"Why so early? I didn't wake up until eight for my other trainer," Nikita said. Not in a whiny voice. Or an angry one. Just...curious.

He looked over his shoulder with a glare. "I'm not your other trainer," was all he replied as he led them to their next point.

Obviously, he wasn't very cheerful today either. Maybe he just wasn't a morning person. Well, that was okay. Neither was she.

He led her to a place with cushioned walls of white and a soft floor. Inside, there were people punching, jabbing, kicking. All sweating profusely.

The only thought that suddenly clouded her mind was how tired she still was. Maybe this was all a dream?

But once she was inside, barefoot and staring at her new mentor, who just threw a kick towards her stomach with hard impact, she knew it wasn't.

"Show me how you defend yourself," he demanded, his voice whispery.

What was wrong with him? Did he ever speak up? They were fighting, for God's sake, and he acting like he was talking like he was rocking a baby to sleep! Though, it was hard to picture him ever holding a baby. He seemed too closed off for that.

He threw a punch at her, towards her face. She dodged her head out of the way, but he still grazed her ear, making it red and pound.

"You're under attack. I'm trying to kill you. If that's the best you can do, you'd be dead. Act like I'm your death threat."

Her acting skills didn't need to be very good. A combination of kicks and punches came her way, terrifying her with his intensity. Like he didn't care if he really did kill her. She dodged and backed up and ran away until he cornered her. Damn, she should have seen that coming.

At least she saw his fist, headed for her face again.

Her fury summoned, she realized she was quickly growing tired of this game. So he wanted her mean and violent? That she could do.

She moved her head away, grabbed his arm and sank her teeth in to his hard, muscled flesh. It didn't work, for his other fist landed against the side of her head, right above her ear.

Ouch, that hurt! Now she really was angry. With her foot stuck out, she started kicking him anywhere she thought would affect him.

He blocked each one. She hadn't even scraped him once.

Her eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling hard. What was wrong with this man? Was he part machine? She had heard of a movie like that once upon a time, but she didn't think it was real. Of course, she didn't think such a place like this existed either.

"Why can't I hurt you?" she asked with exasperation.

He backed up a foot or two, taking a deep breath. "For someone who lived on the streets, you're not very good at this. It's a wonder you managed to survive."

The streets. It was a touche subject for her. Or rather, why she was on the streets. She _had_ to survive. She hadn't a choice.

Before she knew what she was doing, she arm went from her side to straight out in front of her, reaching impact. The next she knew, she was lying flat on the floor.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Arms crossed tightly across her chest, Nikita sat in the middle of her bed and fumed. Michael had been disappointed in her. No, more than that. He thought her pathetic. It was the one thing she could see marked in his eyes. He had sent her back to her room, as if she was worthless. Like he shouldn't even waste his time.

Now what? He had stood over her, from her spot flat on the floor, and told her to go back. He hadn't even taken her - he had let someone else show the way.

But why should this affect her? She wasn't trying to gain approval of anyone here. She just wanted out. She didn't care that Michael had first told her that it was do or die, no escape. Eventually, she'd find a way. And then any bonding she mind have tried to do here would have been silly.

Not to mention, why care if this man liked her or not? He had hurt her. Rubbing her ear, she groaned softly. This was stupid. This whole ordeal. She belonged elsewhere. Not that she really knew precisely where, but it wasn't...here.

"Defense comes first. Then attack."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, startled as she was. Spinning around, she saw Michael standing in the doorway. She hadn't heard him come in. Or the door open.

This man was starting to freak her out.

"What?" Nikita asked, her brow wrinkling.

"You'll learn defense first," he repeated patiently. "Then attack maneuvers. You have a great deal to learn. I'll need your cooperation. You must learn to obey my will and not doubt or argue back. Is that understood?"

"Sounds like you think I'm a dog," she replied with a frown, her arms crossing at her chest.

"You'll be what I want you to be. That's how you survive."

His manner was not rushed, as if he had all the time in the world. He seemed more relaxed now, than he had been earlier and yesterday. As if he was trying to work with her. To take the time.

It didn't mean she was happy about it. Why couldn't these people just leave her alone? Even in jail, she mainly had an easy time. Lounging about on her bed, staring at the ceiling...besides the occasional creep, it wasn't too bad.

Not that she'd want to go back anytime soon. But she wouldn't jump to call this place an improvement.

"Is that it? Learn to fight? How to kill? That's all I have to do?"

He shook his head, ever so slightly. He never did much motion unless it was needed. She found that quite interesting, especially since she was wobbly-limbed and very clumsy. Accident-prone, even.

"No, you'll be training in how to live properly. To eat. Dress. Walk. Most of those things will be handled by Madeline."

Nikita shuddered. She had met Madeline already. That warm smile that never reached her eyes was frightening. There was no breaking through that cold exterior. Looking over to Michael, she saw a resemblance. Was that how everyone was here? Would that be what they would try to turn her in to? A cold, hard, ruthless person?

"I didn't kill that cop," she said suddenly. "It's not true. I didn't do it."

If it was possible, she just witnessed his eyes get colder, more distant. He remained silent, just staring at her, unnerving her.

"There...there was this other man. He saw that I had witnessed what he'd done and he attacked me...he ran away-"

"Enough." It was a harsh growl of a word that slammed her in to silence. He walked towards her, so that now, from her spot, he towered over her. "You will stop saying that. It's a lie. You know it is, I know it is. I don't listen to lies. And you won't tell them."

Her mouth fell open. Why didn't anyone believe her? It was a perfectly believable story - especially since it really had happened! Why was this happening? "It's not a lie!" she shouted back at him, her eyes stinging.

Oh no, she hated crying. She hated showing weakness. But it seemed that whenever she got upset at all, those tears would run for release. "It's not a lie. I didn't do it. I don't belong here. I don't belong here!"

He grabbed her arms, pulling her up from her cross legged position. Now she was kneeling, with his hands gripping her hard. "I told you that's a lie. And no matter what you think now, you want it to be a lie. You want that not to be truth. What you're not understanding is that here, it's better to be the guilty. It's better to be a killer. Do you know why?"

She didn't. What was wrong with the truth? She may have been here for little over a week, but still nothing made sense to her eyes.

"Because Ni-kita, no one here is innocent. No one. That's not a coincidence. Innocents die. They're cancelled. Do you know what happens when someone is cancelled? It means they're stabbed to a metal chair, then shot in the head, or the heart, or poisoned. You're not innocent. You're guilty. You killed that cop, with that knife. You did it out of cold blood. Out of hate. Without a conscious. You did it, because you want to survive. The sooner your survival instincts kick in, the better. Until then, you'll listen to every word I say and act accordingly. Because if you don't..."

His sentence hung heavy in the air. There was no need to finish it. She understood. Michael never said anything more than necessary.

When he let her go, she flexed her shoulders and neck. Now, more than ever, she felt like she was caged in. Trapped. The room was depleting of oxygen. She couldn't breath.

When Michael left, locking the door behind him, she allowed her tears to flow and her heart to harden.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Hey Sugar, come over here a minute, will you?"

Nikita stopped in her tracks, looking around. Had the old Munitions guy just call her Sugar?

"Me?" she asked, pointing to her chest.

His gaze lingered at the spot she had pointed at for a few moments with a dirty grin before nodding. "Yeah, come over here."

She hadn't any idea why he'd be calling her, but at least he didn't seem dangerous. And in this place, she was starting to realize that a person not seeming scary was rare. Besides, she still had a few minutes before Michael came back to take her to her room, like a child. "Yes?" she asked, approaching the table he stood next to.

"It's been rumored that you were assigned to a trainer. Michael. Is that true?"

She nodded. "It is."

A low groan escaped from his throat as he shook his head. "Not good. Not good at all."

She tilted her head, awaiting for him to continue. "What's wrong with that?"

"Well...nothing too bad. It's just...I'm sure you've noticed that he's often...cold. Distant. People around here don't talk to him unless they absolutely have to. He's not the...well, the most friendliest person. Or the most compassionate. He's not one to go for sympathy. So don't try. He often wears a scowl when he's not looking completely blank. The most unreadable man you've ever met-"

"You said nothing too bad. This seems pretty bad..." Nikita interrupted.

Walter shrugged. "Sorry, got a little carried away."

Nikita looked around at the Munitions department, lost in thought. "...So you're warning me? Then what do I do?"

"What he says. Only what he says. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't try to impress him - he won't be. He's the future of Section - no recruit will impress him."

"The future of Section? What does that mean?"

"It means that Oversight and Operations have favored him for years. It's no real secret that they're going to pursue his career here. He'll end up being Operations, if not more. So know, that while you're training with him, you're training with the best. You're getting the best training possible. It'll make you good - if you can survive it. He's tough and he won't relent on you. He don't care about weaknesses. Do your job, get it done. Don't mess up. He's not fond of mistakes."

"That I have noticed. But what is he fond of?"

Walter thought a moment, then chuckled. "Good question."

She blew a bubble with her gum until it popped. She relished in the flavor. When she had been walking among the halls, she saw a door open to another recruit's room. They had two packs of gum. It had been too tempting to resist swiping one while Michael was unlocking her door. "Yeah...don't do that around him either."

Nikita looked at him, exasperated. "What is wrong with this man that he's so mean? Why can't he just...lighten up?"

Walter met her gaze. "I fear that with your personality, you'll find out soon enough."

She didn't know what that meant or how to take it, so she just moved on. "So do you do this for all his trainees?"

"No. He never had one before. Not one he did full time."

"And so I have to follow each of these Section rules?"

"These aren't Section rules, Sugar. There's many more of those. These are just a few laws that were laid down by one man that happens to be your trainer. These are just a few...rules of Michael. You'll learn them quick enough once you're with him for a while. He's not hard to understand as much as it is to make him smile." Walter laughed at his own joke, but it wasn't a joyous laugh. "It's impossible to make that man smile. One too many hard times have fallen upon him. Happiness to him is a lost cause."

Silence fell for a while. Walter seemed busy in his own mind and Nikita hadn't a clue what he was talking about. She wasn't even sure she wanted to.

"So..." She finally whispered, wondering if this was her cue to walk away.

"So follow the rules. Stay alive. It's all the advice you need," were his last words before walking in the back room.

_Follow the rules, stay alive. _That seemed simple enough.

With a grin, knowing she'd learn to like this man very much if she saw him again, she blew another bubble and walked out, looking among all the busy people, walking to and fro.

Then her gaze fell on the computer nerd in Systems. Her eyes reduced to slits. She wasn't very fond of him.

What was his name? Birkoff? For someone that was around her age, he sure was uptight and serious. And he didn't even like bubble gum. What teenager didn't like bubblegum?

Then again, what teenager was so boring? He just went on and on, droning about something with computer access. He sure did take his geek machine seriously. But why did she have to? Not everyone was a glasses-clad, chained-to-computers kid.

Michael had called it a 'lesson'. She called it a total bore. Even her white cell of a room was more entertaining than that. Why'd she have to learn anything on a computer? Michael told her fighting. And normal, every day stuff that 'normal' people do. Hacking in to computers and accessing files wasn't normal! Surely wouldn't kill anyone either.

She had been here for three weeks now. Didn't this place get any more exciting? It could use a few classes in the 'normal' department itself. She was just fine.

"Nikita?"

Michael had arrived to assist her to her room.

She held out her hand. "If you keep treating me like a baby, don't you want to hold my hand in case I wander off?" she mocked, feeling the strain of the day wear down on her.

The old man in Munitions had warned her of the rules. Maybe she'd start following them when he decided to give her an inch of freedom and space. She already had people, perhaps even Birkoff himself, that were monitering her getting dressed. Sleeping. Eating.

"Stalkers," she whispered.

"You have to be assisted back and forth so you don't go places you're not authorized to go yet."

"And where's that?"

"Anywhere other than the gym, Madeline's office, the cafateria, and your room."

She frowned and looked at him in the rebellion that she could feel rising in her chest. "That's stupid. I'm forced to stay here and follow these rules and do whatever you want - but I can't even walk around?"

"It doesn't matter if you think it's stupid. Section doesn't care if things are fair or not. We have better things to worry over."

He left it at that, leading the way to her room. She fell in line behind him, taking a last look around before all she could see was white.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	3. III

_A/N: I hope this story isn't too rocky. I'm finding it quite difficult to keep Michael in character, seeing that he really does have to...well, talk. I'm not used to writing him saying anything more than a few words, but that's impossible here. Beginnings of stories are always hard on me, so though this is pretty slow, I promise it'll pick up once I can get it rolling! Also, thanks Ann, for your wonderful comments! I'm glad you're enjoying it. _

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Oh, finally. She had managed to find some joy in his tragic place, desperate for a happy make over.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one who hated it here. Or the way things were.

While slowly eating their dinner in the 'recruit lounge', as the recruit misfits called the dinged up, crummy room, they had made a plan to have a little fun.

She'd break in to Madeline's office and get some of that glitter nail polish she had seen in there this morning. After all, Madeline was fond of telling her she needed to take her looks more seriously.

She liked the idea of nail polish. It looked pretty. And smelled kinda funny. A good kind of funny.

But though she was fond of the stuff, she couldn't bring herself to tell Madeline that she'd like some. It seemed so..degrading. Embarrassing. Like she was five years old again, having to ask if she could borrow some of her mother's make up to play grown up.

So she'd just get some now. It was the perfect solution.

Three recruits were behind her as they snuck through the labyrinth of tunnels. Down hallways. Up stairs. Up many, many stairs. Her legs, which had been given a thorough workout by the karate man (never could she remember his name) and Michael both today, were trembling by the time they reached the level of the office.

She ignored it and kept going. Once reaching the door, a recruit slipped a piece of paper in to her hand. Numbers were filed in a line. "Make sure you do them in order. Don't skip any."

"What happens if I do?" she asked out of simple curiosity.

A shrug. "An alarm maybe? Who knows. In this place, it wouldn't be surprising if spikes fell out of the sky to instantly kill us all."

She shivered in excitement, flashing a smile. "That just makes the risks all the more exciting, doesn't it?" she replied, then quickly, and carefully, punched the numbers in to the pad.

The doors opened. All four crept inside to get what they wanted.

Nikita didn't have far to go before she was in front of the make up drawers.

She grabbed a purple glitter nail polish and put it in her deep pockets of her cargo pants. She added dark grape colored lipstick and purple eyeshadow.

"How very...gothic of you. Dark purples with your pale skin and hair?" said a recruit that walked up to her.

Nikita grinned back. "I was going for pretty rebellion, but I suppose that would do as well."

"No time for chit chat girls," the third recruit said, the comfortable shirt he had wanted to snatch before someone else on higher levels could claim it hanging over his arm.

Once everyone had their stolen goods, they crept back out of the room and ran as quiet as they could back to their rooms.

Inside, Nikita stashed her new makeup under her gi suits that she wasn't very fond of, then took off the black exercise shirt she had hung over the camera. After flashing a bright smile in to it, she jumped in to bed and went to sleep in hopes of good dreams.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The next morning, Nikita woke up an hour before she had to. Draping her shirt over the camera again, she dressed in camouflage pants that she had taken last night on her way out, and a low cut, backless dress shirt. Then she painted her nails, put on the lipstick, and slipped the brush of eyeshadow against her eyelids.

She had expected it all to look pretty bad. Instead, they didn't look bad at all. Not quite the latest fashion, but still.

And then she headed to Systems, not bothering to wait for Michael.

When Birkoff saw her, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What did you do to yourself? You look like...like street hooker meets Section combat boots. And there is no way Madeline let you step out of her office with _that _on your face."

She grinned mockingly, running her knuckles upon his scalp. "You're cute, Birkoff," she said in a lusty voice, then walked away.

He hadn't even noticed that Michael wasn't with her. Or that she wasn't supposed to be here for another twenty five minutes. This really was fun.

"Sugar, what do you think you're doing?" Walter asked in a harsh whisper. Birkoff may have been oblivious, but Walter had noticed.

"What? You don't like?" she asked, turning from side to side.

Before continuing his reprimanding, he walked behind her and checked out her bare backside. "Mmm...I like. But I'm sure Operations won't be so hot of it when he finds out. You shouldn't be here. Where's Michael?"

She shrugged. "How am I to keep track of that man? I have no idea where he is."

He cocked an eyebrow. "He's probably heading towards your room. You have to be careful. The bosses here...they're quite fond of cancellation. I trust you know what that is well enough by now, am I right?"

She nodded, rolling her eyes. "You just took the whole mood out of it, Walter! It's no fun when you're worried about me."

He grinned. "With a body like that, I can't help but worry for your well being."

The grin appeared back on her plush lips. "Oh, well then I may have to let you see more."

Walter looked at her in surprise, but his smile was soon gone.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

He was fuming. She hadn't been in her room, where she was supposed to be. Where was that girl?

But then, Michael spotted her chatting it up with Walter. Sprouting out dirty little sayings that were practically making Walter blush, in between looking up at Michael, trying to stop her.

When Nikita turned around, the fury only grew.

She was wearing make up. He knew, for a fact, that she wasn't allowed to have that unless she was in session. She had managed somehow to steal it. From Madeline's office.

Michael grabbed her arm and dragged her away from Munitions, leading her quickly to his office.

Holding a finger to his lips with a cold stare to go with, he walked with deep stride to his desk, revealing a small keyboard that he punched a sequence of numbers in to. He looked around, then landed his gaze upon her.

"What is this?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but it sounded like a vicious growl. Like he may spring upon her at any moment. _Not_ in a good way.

She put on a smile, reminding herself that this was for fun. She had managed to get his goat - now she could rejoice in it.

"This is called violet romance. And this one is purple passion. This one is lavender redemption-"

In one swift motion, his body was just inches from hers, his face so close, she saw the lush green of his eyes very clearly.

"If Operations finds out about this, he's going to have a violent passion that will leave you with no hope of redemption."

"Yeah? Well what are they gonna do, really? Madeline's going to tell me not to use her make up? She's the one who keeps drilling it in to my head that I should be trying to look better."

"And Operations is the one who keeps drilling it in to my head that I should prepare myself that I may have to put you down."

She scoffed. Put her down? What was she, a puppy at the pound that no one wants? With an arch of her eyebrow, she realized that the statement rang quite true. Skipping over the thought, she reminded herself what she was doing.

"Can't any of you guys just chill? I mean, my God - I just got here two weeks ago! You took me from my normal surroundings and placed me in here - so now I'm just supposed to do whatever you want because you say you have a target trained on my back?"

His eyebrows flicked upwards. "Yes. That's right. And no one here 'chills',"

"I can see that," she interrupted with a sneer.

His mouth grew grim in it's straight line. "They do or they die. If you don't start doing what I say, you'll be doing the dying."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop talking like this. Please. You're not worried at all about me. So speak plainly. You're worried about your perfect reputation being tinted. That 'Section's favorite' isn't as good as he wants everyone to believe. That someone bested him. That he couldn't train them. That's what you care about. Not me. Is that right?"

She was close enough to see a lie in his eyes. She knew he'd be telling her the truth when he sighed, told her no, that she was important.

"Yes. That's right."

She blinked, taken aback. "You admit to not caring what happens to me? You just care about yourself?"

"Yes," he said, solemn as ever.

She shook her head, exhaling through her nose in disbelief. "You're horrid, you know that? Truly terrible. I understand why you are favored by Section. No one else can be as cold and mean as you are. No one else wants to be. And I, for one, would rather die than become anything like you."

She spun on her heels to walk out, but he caught her arm, spinning her back to meet him face to face.

"You do not walk out on me," his voice was grave with warning.

Angry, she wrinkled her nose, then spit towards his shoes. "I'll do whatever the hell I want. It's my life."

And then, she ran.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooO

He angrily shoved something off his desk. He wasn't sure what he had smacked, but it made a loud clatter upon the hard floor.

This girl was testing his patience, and Michael didn't have much to begin with.

Now he was caught in a predicament. Should he tell on her? Report back to Madeline about the stolen goods? Or should he let it slide?

Nikita had been right. He was worried about his reputation. She wasn't doing anything good for it. He saw now that she was trying to drag him down along with her.

But he wouldn't allow it. He had the authority. He'd see her die before he would be taken from his status.

What should he do?

Back and forth. He paced his office grounds over and over, trying to reach a decision.

Nikita had been caught after her run from him. He put her back in her room after that. Locked up like some wild beast that she was proving she was. There would be no lessons today. She might rejoice in that now, but when she shows that she's ill prepared when Operations looked over improvement. When she'd be tested on what she'd learn.

Why couldn't he have gotten stuck with some rat that actually cared about their life? Instead of a selfish teenager who couldn't care less about what goes on around her?

Back. Forth. Pace, pace, pace.

The sun would rise before he'd make his decision. He noted that he's been losing a lot of sleep since he started being a mentor.

Was it worth it?

Just in case it was, he promised that he'd stick it out, until either she was cancelled or she was the top op - just beneath his level, of course.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	4. IIII

_A/N: I'm really thrilled at everyone's response to this story. I usually struggle with writing long stories, but your comments are of great help to me! Thanks a lot and keep them coming!_

Nikita walked along the hallways in joyous abandon. Madeline had told her today that she would no longer be locked in her room. She could walk to and fro on her own. A reward, if she'd be good.

So for the past week, she's shown up to where ever she needed to be. She didn't break in to anyone's offices. She stopped threatening the computer geeks in Systems. And she no longer snuck guns out of munitions to show to the System nerds. Or to threaten them with.

She was on her best behavior. Not because she had her death hanging over her head. But because she was allowed free access to Madeline's things. Makeup. Clothing. It was hers, as long as she had a report at the end of the week from Michael saying she didn't disobey every single order he gave. She knew where the lines were. She simply tip toed on them, just not over them.

Michael had told her that he just sent her weekly report to Madeline. So Nikita was on her way up to the office now. Walter had let her know that the new shipments for supplies had come in. Maybe Madeline had new things too?

She knocked on the doors. After a moment, they opened, revealing Madeline herself, seated by the computer.

And sealed boxes.

She waited as the older woman gave her a soft smile. "I see you're doing well," she stated, gesturing to her computer screen. Sure enough, it told of all the things she did. And omitted most of what she had managed to slip up on. Michael usually excluded those bad things she managed to get herself in to. She pretended it was for her well being, though she knew it was only for his.

But at least for the moment, she didn't care. "Are those new things?" Nikita asked, pointing to the boxes as she walked over to them.

She needed to make sure they were just frilly objects that she was after. Opening random, unmarked boxes in this place could get you blown up.

"They are. Would you like to see them?"

"Yes, please," She said, remembering the courtesy lesson she had yesterday.

Madeline nodded in approval, then walked over and started to open the big, brown boxes. Color splashed in front of Nikita's vision.

Clothes. Of all kinds. Her fingers started to itch. She wanted so much that she saw.

Makeup of all different kinds were in the other.

"Chose what you want, then take it to your room. It's nearly dinner time."

She didn't need to be told twice. Gathering everything she liked in her arms, she was soon out of sight and running down the hallways.

Her room was better looking these days as well. Last week, she had requested colorful posters of bands that she had heard talk of on the streets. Her bed sheets were blue and purple tie dye. She had lavender colored cloths hanging over her lamps to cast a better glow over the pristine white walls. Soft rugs accompanied the floors. A book shelf was pushed against the wall next to her bed, awaiting books for her to take interest in, besides her unruly stack of school ones. A stereo was on top, an odd assortment of cds next to it. And a dresser was in the corner, overflowing with her taste in clothing. The top was decorated in lipsticks, nail polishes and blush.

She dumped her armload on her bed and began to sort through it. To her delight, part of what she had discovered in the boxes was hair dye. Obviously, Madeline hadn't seen those yet, so she snatched them before they could be taken away.

She could be a brunette. Or a neon blue.

Fun in a can, she couldn't wait.

She donned her backless black dress shirt and paired in with a black and blue plaid mini skirt. If nothing else was good in this place she now was forced to call home, it was that when you wore something good, people noticed.

She had even caught Michael staring at her a few times. She never knew what that meant though. His stare was so blank, she could never tell when he was in a good mood or disapproving. Since he never seemed to be in a good mood, her guess was always with disapproving.

The speaker in the corner came on, a random voice from Kitchen telling all the recruits it was dinner time. Recruits weren't allowed to pick and chose when they could eat. Since they relied only on Section and never the outside, if they were too late, then it was too bad. They went without food.

Quickly sliding her feet in to black checkered Converses and not bothering to tie them, she started running down the halls again to get up to Kitchen. She didn't want to be left with the nasty tasting goo that was scraped from the bottom of burnt pans.

Before she got anywhere near it though, she saw Michael, looking at her in disapproval, once again. Staring at him, wondering what she should do, she forgot to look where she was going and ran in to a innocent bystander, making her fall flat on the floor.

Embarrassed but trying not to show it, she immediately tried to stand up quickly. She fell again, this time fall over her own shoe laces.

"_The most uncoordinated thing I ever saw."_

She groaned silently, her smile falling from her face as she heard the whispers around her. It wasn't a first. It wasn't new by a long shot. Operatives were always calling her accident prone. It was what she was known for, actually. That, and her bold defiance.

"Accident prone."

"She'll be killed on her first mission, for sure."

Picking up her shattered confidence, she stood on her feet again, brushing down her short skirt. She could barely look at Michael, she felt so ashamed. Her appetite was gone, she didn't care about dinner anymore.

Turning, she walked slowly back to her room. She felt Michael's gaze on her. Not angry, for once, but of something she couldn't define.

She nearly tripped again. Kicking off her shoes, she walked the rest of the way in her stocking feet.

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Walter held the report in his hands, shaking his head and regretting that he had to turn it in to Michael. The silent killer wouldn't be to happy with the results that he was about to get.

Why couldn't Nikita just listen? Did she have to rebel against everything they did here? She had willingly admitted to him that she was failing every class she took. Every teacher and trainer hated the sight of her.

For good reason.

And there he was. Michael stood by his office door, anxiously awaiting for the paper.

"Well?" he asked, impatiently.

"Well...she didn't do as well as I would have liked." Walter said, clearing this throat. How to put this nicely?

"How did she do?" Michael didn't care for small talk or nice ways. He wanted the facts. He'd come up with a cover to shield Nikita from Operations's wrath later.

"She keeps killing nearly everyone. All my cutouts are ruined from her shooting the bejezus out of them."

Michael pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes for a moment to gather composure. "Who didn't she hit?"

Michael said the words, but he felt like he didn't have to. It was the classic case, most likely. There was one cutout of a very attractive man that the women recruits never could find it in themselves to shoot. Instead, they'd gaze dreamily at him.

He had hoped for Nikita to prove him differently. Obviously he was wrong. "The good looking guy?"

Walter shook his head, looking at the paper. "She shot every cop and criminal. Sloppily, but she hit them somewhere in their bodies at least a few times before they went away. She killed quite a few street walkers. Innocents. That good looking guy isn't so good looking anymore. But she did manage to skip every child and pregnant woman."

So she had killed everyone she could within the good of her conscience.

"I suppose you can't blame her too much," Walter said, trying to help to make her look better. Apparently he was gaining an attachment to this new rebellion. Hopefully he didn't get too used to her. "After all, she did kill a cop to get in here. It's probably second nature to her, living on the streets and all."

A blank stare was all he got for his efforts.

"Have I mentioned her hair somehow turned blue? A very bright, shocking blue."

Michael stared at him for a moment, took the paper, then went back inside his office, shutting the door. He didn't need to hear anymore weak excuses. And he certainly didn't need to hear about how Nikita was on a warpath to get herself killed as quickly as possible.

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"Hey Walter, how's it going?"

He looked up at the blue-headed recruit with the bright smile. "Uh...hey, good looking. Has Madeline seen you lately?"

Her smile grew. "She thinks the light pink shiny lipstick stuff goes very well with my new hairstyle. Why do you ask?"

Walter shook his head but couldn't stop the wry grin from appearing. "Has Michael seen you?" he ventured.

She let out a purr of a laugh. "Nooo, not yet. But I suspect he knows."

"Why must you torture that man?" His voice was joking, but his eyes rang with seriousness.

"You have to ask? God, all these people telling me what to do for everything. How to eat. How to walk. How to kick and hit and scream. Really, I can't stand any of them. Why shouldn't I pay them back a bit? They're in humor debt," she replied, brushing her shocking long strands of hair behind her shoulder.

"Yeah, I get ya, Sugar. But maybe it would prove wise to...well, let up on Michael, at least. He is doing a lot to cover your sweet little behind. You're not making it easy for him."

"Why should I? It wasn't my choice to come here in the first place."

"But it was yours to get thrown in jail," he pointed out.

She opened her mouth to start sprouting the truth that only she knew to be accurate, but stopped herself. At least some of what her mentor said stayed with her. And she did remember that he had demanded she keep quiet about her little situation.

"Have you seen the bruises on my body?"

His eyes started to glow, a dirty comeback on the tip of his tongue when a flash of her eyes made him hold it back.

"He doesn't deserve my obedience. If they want to kill me," she opened her arms wide, "then here I am."

Walter closed his eyes. He didn't like the mental picture that went along with her words. "Listen, you have your own personal problems. Shocking as it may seem, Michael does too. He's struggling with dealing with them right now, and he's trying to keep your heart beating until you come to your senses enough to do it yourself. Let up a bit, Sugar. That's not what's going to kill you."

She tilted her head, her hair falling like a night time waterfall. "You seem awfully protective. What's his personal problems? And does it have anything to do with the reason no one around here likes him? Or talks to him? Hell, even looks his way?"

He nodded. "It does. But it's not my place to tell you why."

Her brow furrowed. "Why not?"

Walter seemed out of his element. Having a serious conversation was not his thing. He liked to stick with his light banter and witty comebacks instead. There was too much seriousness around here for him to add to it. "Because that would be like Michael spreading around facts and rumors about you."

She rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't even matter - there's plenty going around about me as it is."

The corner of his eyes crinkled. "Just you wait a few months. They'll all turn around. You'll have to beat the drooling, begging operatives off of you with a bat."

Nikita broke in to a smile, her clean teeth contrasting with her dark lipstick. "Thanks, Walter. You're always the bright part of my day."

He grunted with a grin. "Learn a lesson or two from me and try it on Michael. You never know what the results may be."

She snorted. "Yeah, let me guess. He starts to not hate me, I get to live past training, we become Section's best operatives, eventually fall madly in love, then take over Section together? Oh, then we can have kids and you can be the dirty old uncle and Birkoff can be like the bully uncle. Am I close to Section's version of happily ever after?"

Walter chuckled. "Good night, Sugar. Go get some rest. I'm willing to bet you'll need it tomorrow."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	5. IIIII

**A/N:**

**ga-4-ever** - glad to see you're reading! It's always great to see new reviewers!

**Ann:** Your lengthy reviews always brighten my day! Thanks for putting so much effort in to each one, it means alot.

**cavanaugh-girl **- I look forward to your chapterly reviews! Thanks for sticking with me. I've been trying, though it's slow, to get time to read some of your stories as well.

Lastly, **lyne zrehen** - you asked if I'd do a post series story. I actually have two of them in mind, one I started to slowly chip away at. The first story is much like this one - there's a new recruit in Section, who's very rebellious and troublesome. All her mentors and trainers recommend cancellation. But Nikita can see herself in this new recruit, and decides, even though she's now Operations, to train the girl herself. It helps her see just how much Michael went through while he was training her as well. The other is right when Nikita starts her reign in Section, and is struggling to gain the respect from the other operatives. Due to her time at betraying Section while being a mole, some aren't fond of her right to be the leader. But just when things start to calm down and everyone starts to accept her position, she receives some startling news that will make her keeping the respect among her peers a thousand times harder. So after I finish this story, you can look forward to me persuing one of those.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Chapter Five**_

Nikita bit the cuticle of her thumb nail as she stared up at the four faces above her.

"Come on, it would be great. We've all been locked here for months."

"You do know that they don't let you out of here with permission for two years?"

"That's a long time to go without seeing the stars. Or feeling fresh air. Come on, I can see how cagey you are."

"Very cagey."

"Definitely."

She couldn't disagree with them. Today, she'd done nothing but pace. She could have done a number of things but instead, she paced. The crisscross pattern upon the floor made her feel like she was in the prison Section was.

The walls were closing in on her. Slowly at first, but faster now. Soon there'd be no oxygen left in this place, with all these operatives running around. She'd suffocate, long and painful.

She nearly passed out, she got herself worked up so much.

Nikita _was_ cagey. And she could stand going out. Doing anything, as long as it wasn't in here.

But this?

"I don't know, guys. If we were caught, it would be on definite grounds of cancellation."

The girl walked up to her with a frown and the cross of her arms. "Listen to yourself, would you? You think dyeing your hair weird colors and failing classes is a big deal? It's not. Unruly twelve year olds get their kicks from that type of stuff. This is fun. This is big. Come on, go with us."

The other three advanced on her, all with cross arms.

'_So this must be how a gang initiation feels like,'_ she thought as she swallowed hard. Even though these four were new recruits themselves, they were also well known criminals. Murderers. Dangerous. Dangerous enough to catch Section's eye. She may be innocent and harmless enough, but those surrounding her weren't.

But what the hell, why not? It was good to have a good time every once in a while. And she surely wasn't going to get it with so many eyes watching her and the figurative ball and chain locked on her ankle.

"Fine, fine I'll go. Just let me grab some shoes and a jacket," Nikita replied, putting her hair up in a messy bun.

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Nikita stared at the chart, her lips slightly parted with her fingertip making an indent upon her cheek. "Um..."

"Come on, Nikita, you got to chose! It's your turn."

She rolled her eyes. They had drawn straws to determine the order. She had gotten second. But after hearing the first one scream in pain the entire time and seeing the rag of blood, she wasn't so fond of the idea of going at all.

But they had managed to get out. The one recruit she was with had been around for a year and a half and had friends in high places. He had used the faux hand print of a level two operative to get out.

It would only work once, but that's all they needed.

Since they were here, she might as well go through with it.

"Is there anything that symbolizes anti-freedom or something? That would be good, I think," Nikita replied, her teeth nibbling at her cuticle again.

"Well, we have a bar code. And prison bars. Maybe a bird with broken wings?"

The suggestions made her nose wrinkle. She was near positive that somewhere on the inside of her body, Section had already encoded their bar code upon her. Certainly, it was already well printed against her soul. And did she really want a broken winged bird on her body for the rest of her life? Did she want to go through that much pain for something that's mutilated before it ever reached her flesh?

"A plane? A hot car?" Came more suggestions.

"Perhaps something more powerful?" The tattoo artist turned the chart around and pointed to a beautiful tiger with a head and claws. "A tear running down his face maybe?"

It was the best suggestion so far, and she always rather liked tigers. With a nod to determine her decision, she was led to a chair, sitting on it backwards with her legs and arms wrapped around the back.

She didn't watch the artist prepare. Sterilizing needles. Pouring alcohol. It all made her visibly cringe.

But if she could bear Michael's same blank stares day after antagonizing long day without change, she could bear this for a few minutes. Nothing to it.

She felt something wet upon the lower of her back. Where her bare, unmarred flesh was. Soon to be jabbed and pricked in to the face of a sad tiger, trapped in the cruelness that put him there. In pain he comes. In pain, he will be finished off.

Will she share his fate?

One of the recruits, a shaven headed, never smiling, evil eyed man of his mid twenties came and sat in front of her. If he turned around, she could have seen the bar code that was now etched in to his neck, still oozing slightly in blood.

"It's fine. Sure, it burns like the skin is melting off your bones, but it's gone soon enough. It kind of...grows numb after a while. Like ice upon heated flesh, you know?"

His words were of little comfort. But soon, she heard a familiar buzzing. And then a sharp pain that took her breath away.

The tiger head was beginning.

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Laying flat on her stomach, her cheek squished against the hard bed, Nikita laid in agony as she wondered how she'd manage to wrestle with Michael tomorrow. He was never forgiving, no matter how battered she got. He wanted her to learn, no matter what. Apparently, he was trying to make up for all the F's she was receiving elsewhere, and he'd do his hardest to make sure he pounded an A in to her. Like with everything, he performed his job well.

Too well.

The tattoo artist had been a little worried that she was from a battered home.

She wished. At least then, she could run away.

Or get kicked out. She knew a thing or two about battered homes from childhood experience.

But in the last month, she had also learned a thing or two about Section.

There is no running away. The only way out is through looking at the cold, receiving end of the barrel of a well polished gun.

What kind of life was this? When she wished she had the chance to live in an abusive home? It was what made her go through the permanent marking of her rebellion. It hadn't hurt too badly. She could stand the pain while it was happening. Anger was her morphine.

But now the pain was sharp and throbbing and the tattoo itself was angry. Angry at her body. The tiger was ripping apart her flesh.

Maybe the butterfly would have been a better choice?

Groaning, she promised that the rest of her rebellion would be painless for her. It was no fun when Section had a peaceful night's sleep while she lay in agony. It was supposed to be the other way around!

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Dodge. Jump. Circle. Defend.

Michael kept throwing punches, kicks, and chops at her. She didn't dare return the favor.

Her back ached. Every time she moved a muscle, any, it burned. Just defending herself was painful enough.

His leg swung out and landed hard against her solar plexus. She landed with a loud thud on her bottom as she wheezed to try and breathe. Her lungs had stopped working. She couldn't inhale!

She looked up at him with a worried, angered glare.

"Calm down, you'll be able to breathe soon," he offered.

Tears were springing to her eyes from the hurt. Her lungs burned. Obviously, soon wasn't soon enough.

But her lungs did eventually expand. Air went through her passageways. When her voice returned, it spouted out her anger. "Why are you so rough today?" she barked out. And why today, of all days?

"Your first evaluation is in two months. You're no where near good enough shape to pass it."

She stood up, tilting her head to the side. "Evaluat-"

He swept her feet right out from under her. She went sprawling on her sore stomach, causing her to lose her breath again.

"So far you've never seen Operations. Do you know why? You're a disgrace. If he even laid eyes on you, you'd be dead seconds later. And that blue hair?" He breathed deeply, staring in to her eyes as he crouched in front of her. "I've kept him far away from you. Because so far, you've managed to test the patience of everyone you're in the company of. His patience isn't tested. If he doesn't like some much as the color of your eyes, he can snap his fingers and the next you know, a bullet is lodged in your brain."

He looked beyond her, making his eyes grow larger in what looked like curiosity.

He stood, walked behind her. The next she knew, he had pounced upon her, pinning down her wrists and knees.

She awaited the following blow, but it didn't come. He just stayed in that position. A witty comment, _are you enjoying your view back there? _was on the tip of her tongue, but it died when she looked back to see his face.

It was one of those rare moments when his simple, blank stare was a million miles away. She knew what he was feeling. His eyes were cold and hard and angry. His dark eyebrows were pinched together. His chest was rising and falling in rapid motions. His growing anger was in the deep set frown that was plastered on his face.

_Uh oh._

Her shirt had rode up on her back when she fell. Her tattoo was in plain sight, for all to see. For Michael to see.

The weight on her leg was lifted. But before she could sigh in relief, his knee came down on her back, right over her kidney. He applied just enough pressure to make it clear that the pain he could cause would make the pain of her tattoo feel like a tickle.

"Where did you get this?" It wasn't words. It was a deep growl.

Her mind went utterly blank. She really hated when it did that. "I uh...always had that." Apparently her lying ability was nil.

He got up and rolled her on to her back. His straddled her, his big hand placed tightly against her throat. "Where did you get that?"

Voices sounded just outside the gym. He stood up like lightening had stuck him, then grabbed her arm roughly and tugged hard enough that her body came up with it. He slammed her against the plush wall hard enough to feel the unforgiving concrete behind the mats.

"My office. Don't say a word until then," He threatened, then grabbed the hems of her shirt and tugged in down hard. He pressed his hand to the middle of her back, making her lead. In case her shirt rode up again, he'd block it to onlookers.

This tattoo was beginning to become a real pain, figuratively and literally.

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The door slammed just as hard as Michael's fingers against the key pad.

This office was beginning to become a room that she should fear - he brought her in here whenever she had misbehaved or when he had to scold her.

She backed up against the wall before he could make her. "Now, let me make this very clear, Ni-ki-ta. You are going to tell me where you got that. You're going to tell me how you found a way out to get it. And you're going to give me a list of names of everyone who went with you. And after we're done, you'll be getting that tattoo removed."

He shoved a hand roughly in to his hair. How would he get it removed without anyone knowing? It was something he'd figure out along the way. Right now, he wanted answers, and a lot of them.

"Start talking."

Just his steel stare was enough to send her fingers and knees trembling, let alone what they had just suffered through. She hid it the best she could while craving a chair to rest in to.

"I escaped last night. I stole an id card from an operative and got out. I was alone. I just wanted to have a little fun. You don't have to get so huffy about it."

His hand reclaimed it's previous spot on her throat. "You're lying. We don't have id cards here."

His words jogged her memory. That's right, it had been by hand print. The first operative had put the thin layer of what ever it was over his hand, then pressed that to the screen.

"It was a hand print. It's like an id card, you know? I got my words confused. In the real world, we don't really have lock downs like this."

"You're lying," he repeated.

Was he even blinking? It didn't look like it. He just kept staring. Breaking down her will. Making her ache inside. Her heart pumped faster in fear. "Honestly, it was just me."

His eyes closed. Finally, his eyes got some moisture. She was beginning to think he original theories of the inhuman man were correct. When he opened them, he looked like he was the one in pain.

"You're lying. I just finished telling you about Operations. You don't want him finding out about this. You're going to have to tell me the truth, Nikita. Or I'll have him do it. Just a hint...you won't be coming back if you choose option B."

A shiver ran down her spine. How to get out of this? Even if she wanted to tell the truth, what could she say? She didn't know the names of those who she had went with, for this very reason. Sure, she knew their faces. But she didn't have to recognize them. And no plan recreated by rebellious recruits was foolproof.

"I don't know any of their names. I'm not even sure how many there are. There was only two of us. Then I think more came behind. I didn't see really get a good look at any of them. It was dark and night and I was a little freaked out by the needles."

"If you were afraid of the needles, then why did you go?" His tone finally was lowered in to a calm registry. His hand sunk from her body.

"Because I can't stand being in here all the time."

"This is a very big place. You shouldn't be completely bored just yet. If you put your interest to normal things-"

"Normal? Really?" her voice pitched.

His lips pursed. "If you put your interest in to normal things that recruits should, then you'd find that there is much to do. Not all of it is hard work. There's places to relax and to have a little fun."

She crossed her arms. "Yeah? Where?"

"If you got along with Birkoff a little better, you'd already know. He leads some fun activities."

She waved her hand to dismiss the idea. "Video games are boring. I'm not interested in any of that nerd stuff."

He nodded. "Yes, blue hair and tiger tattoos are a much better investment."

Her hands fell to her hips. "Excuse me if I get a little restless every once in a while. The real jail cell had more entertainment than this."

"I might excuse you. But no one else will. Are you willing to take that chance?"

Her strong, iron will told her she was. That the words coming from this man's lips were meaningless and her ears were deaf to them. But a part of her, small and deep inside, started to beg her to listen. Her will to die wasn't fully installed yet. "Maybe not."

His fingertips brushed his chin, his mind obviously busy at work. "Go back to your room. Don't come out for any reason. And don't get changed. Put a sweater or something over what you have on. I'll come get you in a few hours. I'll tell you what's going to happen then."

Glad she was free, she turned from his close body and ran out the door.

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Walter's arms were crossed as he listened. "So now that this is all over...do you think you could settle down for a bit? Michael was right. Recruits get evaluations four times a year. Every three months. You really need to pass it."

He was worried for her. He was the only one. It was sweet and endearing, touching a place in Nikita's heart that wasn't used to being attended to. Nodding, she tried to instill some security. "Yeah, I'll let up a bit. I can barely move right now any way."

It had been three long sessions to rid her of the tattoo. She had begged for her to be knocked out while it happened. These people had no mercy. Only told her that if she could stand getting it on, she could stand getting it off. Well, now she knew that she wasn't very fond of either.

"You know, I'm just some old guy who likes to play with guns and invent new bombs. But if you need some help with your schooling, I could see what I can muster up from those days to help. But you know who could really help? Birkoff. He's got all that stuff down pat."

Nikita groaned. If Michael was Section's favorite, Madeline and the mysterious Operations were the rulers, did that make wonderful, perfect Birkoff the prince of Section?

Did that make her the jester?

"I know you don't get along with him," Walter said with a smirk, "but he's really not a bad kid."

She rolled her eyes and popped her gum. "As everyone keeps telling me. But he's annoying as hell, Walter! He tries to be as bothersome as possible!"

He chuckled. "Yeah, he can be tough on the new recruits. He just doesn't like the idea of anyone taking over his turf. He's great at what he does. But he has a fear of someone coming in and taking over..."

"He doesn't have to worry about me. I'm certainly no threat."

"Sounds like he's taken the little brother role with you. Maybe he kinda likes you. Maybe he's trying to keep you alive by his nagging. Don't you think that's a possibility?"

She huffed. "Doubt it."

"In any case," Walter continued, "he's not the one you have to worry about. Will you promise me that you'll let up a bit on Michael? In all seriousness, I'm not really sure how I'm seeing you still alive."

Nikita nodded. "I promise. After that stunt, I'm pretty much wiped out of ideas anyway. I've had enough excitement. For now."

"Good. Just try to keep it that way until you pass first evaluation."

She bit her lip. "Well...that's an awfully long time away..."

Walter gave her a stern, concerned look and she quickly broke in to a smile. "But I'll do it. If not only just for you."

With a kiss to his cheek, she walked leisurely out of Munitions, putting on a little show just for him.

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	6. IIIIII

**A/N**: Ann: once again, thanks for the story ideas. You were alot of help. And also, I must say I'm more than delighted to know that you're surprised at my age. Many, many times I've had reviewers ask me if I was a teenager, because I write like one. Which, as I'm sure you can imagine, is quite depressing for a writer, even if I am a teenager! So thanks alot, you instilled a bit more confidence in my feeble attempt at writing. Also, my original works are mainly, if not all, romantic comedies. One day I'm bound to finish putting up all the chapters, when I'm not so busy on this site!

Everyone else, as always, your comments are very appreciated. Keep 'em coming! They inspire me to keep at this story. Which, if it was any other long story I've ever written, I would have gotten hopelessly bored with it by now and would be looking for something else to write. But thankfully, I haven't had any of those urges yet.

_**Chapter 6**_

Nikita looked at her reflection in her new full length mirror with pride. Her hair was no longer blue, but a solid black. She couldn't get in trouble for this one: it was a natural hair color and it was Section's theme. It was a way to do something different, but to also stay within the boundaries. After all, she had promised Walter she'd behave for a while. She may be a lot of things, but a liar she wasn't.

So all week, she'd shown up, on time, to every class. She studied for at least one test, for at least a whole fifteen minutes. She spent an hour of her free time each night at the gym, getting her frustrations out to a punching bag, instead of Michael and Section. Though she usually got frustrated after a few minutes when she found herself lying on the floor, the punching bag the proud winner of the fight.

Perhaps it wasn't much to others, but it was a huge effort on her part. She hoped Michael saw it, for she didn't know how much more she could do without withering away in her own boredom.

She put her newly dyed shiny black hair up in a high pony tail to show it off, then picked up her stack of books and started to skip to class. Checking her watch, she saw she was only fifteen minutes late for French class. Such an effort she was making - she was twenty five minutes earlier than usual, and she probably didn't even miss the whole test yet.

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Stripping off her jacket and pulling the scrunchi from her hair to make it fall around her shoulders, she sighed and walked out of class. It had been a long, boring day that she barely was able to remain conscious for. She loved learning, and loved having knowledge, but the way they shoved things in to her head was just a little too much. Not to mention the drill instructors they had as teachers. They droned on and on and then they'd scream at you if you answered anything wrong. God, Section's schooling was horrible.

"Hey Sugar, you went to school today?" Walter asked with a hopeful smile.

Nikita wrapped her arm around him. "I did."

"Any tests?"

She grabbed the crumbled up paper from her pocket and spread it out flat. "Look at that, Walter. A C plus. Beautiful, isn't it?"

He chuckled and gave a quick kiss to her cheek. "You're getting better. Keep those grades rising."

"If only Michael would have that reaction," she sighed. She hadn't seen him since she dyed her hair yesterday, but she was already sure he wouldn't be very supportive of her new grade anyway.

"You wish he'd give you kisses? Oh, well I'm not sure how much luck you'll have on that front-"

His words died after seeing her horrified face.

"My God, Walter! No! Ew. Who'd want to have Michael kiss them? It would probably be the kiss of death. His lips are most likely just as dangerous as his hands."

Walter nodded. "Oh yes, I hear they're dangerous alright," his voice was suggestive, his eyebrows wiggling as he smiled. "You can't tell me somehow managed to miss how good looking he just so happens to be?"

She shrugged. "He's good looking, I'll give him that. But he's also on full pursuit of causing me pain."

"Doesn't stop the others," he shrugged.

"But I'm his first material, I thought."

"He's trained others. Just not full time. And trust me, they've fallen _plenty_ in love with him and very quickly. Everybody loves that guy. Between the good looks and the wanting to heal all his pain..."

She looked at him with interest. He made an alarmed sound. "Their whispers are loud! I happen to hear them. This is just what they say in the women's locker rooms."

Nikita flashed him a look of surprise. "Now Walter, dear Head of Munitions, who's far far away and quite a few levels above any women's locker, what would you be doing around there?"

He put his hands on her hips and did a few sways in simple dance as his smile spread across the span of his face. "Mmm...Trust me, Sugar - I'm all straight."

She laughed, partly for the idea of Walter lurking around the corners of women's lockers to get a peek, and partly at thinking that anyone could be hopelessly in love with Michael. "He's so mean. He never smiles. He's always glaring."

"Not never, not always. He can be nice if he wants to. If you earn that right. He's a pretty great guy when you get to know him."

"How long have you known him?"

"He's been here five years now. Had a pretty rough and rocky time, but in spite of it, he's managed to thrive."

Nikita opened her mouth to ask what he had a rough and rocky time with, but already knew she wouldn't get the answers from this honest man.

She shifted the books in her arms and gave him a look of dread. "I have to go to Madeline's office next," she cringed at the words.

"Another lesson?"

Nodding, she frowned. "Madeline always scares me. It's like she can read my mind. She knows what I'm thinking, when I'm thinking it." Nikita leaned close to her friend. "She's not a...a psychic, is she, Walter?"

He laughed. "Close enough!"

"Does she always make you feel so inferior? Like you should be trembling in fear whenever you're in her presence? Is that how it's always going to be like?"

He half shrugged. "More or less, yeah. That's just pretty much Madeline."

She let out a whimper, propping her books on her hip and turning away. "Here goes nothing. Again," she groaned, then started to hurry up the levels. If there was one lesson you didn't want to be late for, it was this next one. The one with the most dread.

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Madeline seemed to be in a good mood today. She had been smiling nearly the whole time. Nikita didn't dare to question why, even in her own mind. It's better not to know.

Staring at her own reflection, she didn't notice herself. Of course, she had worn make up before, but this seemed to be professionally done. Madeline-done.

"This is your nighttime look. You never wear this much mascara, eyeshadow and dark lipstick unless it's either nighttime, or you're in a club or bar."

Nikita checked the clock on the wall. "It's only..." Her heart sunk. Getting up at four thirty in the morning made days go awfully long. She had hopes that it was near dinner time. "Eleven o'clock. Can I still wear it anyway?"

Madeline smiled with a nod as she swept Nikita's hair behind her shoulders. "Has Michael seen you with this hair color yet?"

That sure seemed like an odd question out of the blue. "No, he hasn't. We have lessons in fifteen minutes though." She wished she could ask why, but you never, ever asked Madeline why on anything. But really, why would she want to know that? She never worried about Michael seeing her any other time after these women lessons.

Whether Madeline was a mind reader or not, she didn't answer the unspoken question, so Nikita stood up and grabbed up her school books.

"Gotta go," she said, trying to run out of the room. She didn't make it and instead, was called back. Turning towards her teacher, she inwardly cringed. What now?

"What do you say?"

Silencing a groan, she replied, "Thank you for my lesson, Madeline. May I leave now?"

Pleased, Madeline nodded.

Nikita hurried out of the room. She had to quickly go around to show off her current look. When she walks out of that gym after Michael is finished with her, it'll have been all beaten off of her.

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Confidence was key. Madeline was always saying it. So Nikita strutted down with hallways, fully dressed in her white gi. She never wore them any other time, but today, she was making an effort. Even if she did feel like she was drowning in them. Hopefully Michael wouldn't notice her feet, which were sheathed in fuzzy slippers. Why go through the trouble of putting on boots when she was just going to take them off when she entered the gym?

Nearly there, she stumbled on those cozy slippers, making her black hair fall in front of her face.

When she looked up, she saw Michael standing in front of her. He stood in stunned silence, his eyes wide in shock. His mouth was slightly ajar. He almost looked hopeful.

Why was he looking at her like that?

After a moment of her staring back, it seemed he came back in to consciousness.

And then, he seemed to inwardly crumble. Like his world was shattering around him.

What was going on?

He suddenly charged towards her, grabbing her arm. "Why is your hair that color? Didn't I tell you to stop dyeing your hair?" he demanded. His eyes seemed to blaze and form fiery daggers.

"Madeline liked it. She said it was fine. It's a natural hair color, after all. Why? What's wrong with it?" Honestly, she had thought he'd be pleased with her efforts. Obviously, she was wrong.

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, though it seemed like he couldn't breath. He had never acted so strangely before. What was going on with him?

He closed his eyes. Slightly shook his head. Opened his eyes and avoided looking at her. Then he led her in to the gym.

"Okay...today's lesson..." He was stumbling over words. His accent was thicker than usual.

"Are you alright, Michael?"

He nodded and swallowed hard. "Today's lesson on attack is finding the solar plexus amid a fight."

He approached her. It was his move first, wasn't it? He didn't try to land a punch on her. Or a kick. Was this some kind of trick? What was she supposed to do?

He didn't look like he was waiting for anything. Just...hesitating. One of his top rules was never to hesitate.

So she threw a punch. For the first time ever, he didn't block it. The flesh of her fist met the white cloth of his gi, square in the chest.

He closed his eyes. Now she really was confused. Worried even.

She threw one more punch, lightly hitting his solar plexus. "It's right there," she whispered.

He nodded. "Yeah, it's there." The words were barely loud enough to register. "You got it. Lesson over."

Her eyes bulged. Lesson over? It hadn't even begun yet! And they were supposed to be attacking each other, weren't they?

But he just placed his hand over the spot she had last touched, then sank against the wall until he was sitting in a heap on the floor, his face hidden in his knees.

She ran. Over to munitions, praying Walter wasn't busy. Finding him standing there, inspecting guns, she started to sprout out what she just witnessed. "...And then he just slid to the floor! Not even gracefully! He melted like a puddle. Why? Has he ever acted like that?"

Walter, still staring in to his guns, offered a shrug. "I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth."

And then a light seemed to have lit. He looked up at her, touching a strand of her dark black hair. "Damn." He cursed softly. "It's your hair. I didn't even think about it before. How did that pass me?"

Her hair? What about her hair? "What's wrong with it? Why would he act that way?"

Walter gulped, biting his lip as he put down the gun. "I wish I could tell you about it, but I really can't. It's just...Michael knew someone, not long ago. Who he knew...very well. And that person was tragically killed. That person also had the same colored hair that you do now...the same length. It's a sore spot for him. I'm sure it affected him to see someone with that type of hair."

Her hair? Her hair had made him look so devastated? Had made him look so hurt?

Michael was someone she wasn't too terribly fond of yet. He was self centered and uncaring. But he was keeping her alive. Covering for her. Helping her. And if he was hurting that badly over a color of hair, then she had to do something about it.

"Thanks, Walter." She said with a wave, then started off to the showers. She had a long night of constant washing ahead of her. And maybe some bleach and blonde hair dye, if she could find Madeline.

Her dyeing days, at least for now, were over.

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	7. IIIIIII

A/N: I think Nikita's starting to understand a bit of what's going on, but not fully grasping the whole concept just yet. She'll be easy going on Michael perhaps for a little while, since all play and no work makes Michael very angry, but don't think her promise to go lightly on everyone will last. ;) Also, sorry the chapters are taking a bit longer to get out - I've been trying to work over on fictionpress and doing alot on youtube lately, but I'm still working hard to get this story out every other day or so.

_**Chapter 7**_

"Please, would you not do that?" Came the nasally voice of Birkoff, glaring angrily at her as he shoved his fingers through his short, spiked hair.

Nikita blew a bigger bubble this time, then leaned down to his ear just before it gave off a loud pop. Birkoff jumped in his chair, his hand flying in the air in hopes to land purchase upon her. Stepping back, she laughed at his meager efforts.

"You're supposed to be paying attention."

"And you're supposed to be a teenager. Not some old grump," Nikita retorted. "I'm bored. What do you expect me to do?"

"How about let me teach you how to work this so it can save your sorry butt one day?" Birkoff sent a death glare to the small bubble starting to form between her lips.

Nikita plopped in to a chair, kicked her feet up on to the desk, then leaned far back. "Why don't you just teach me how to play that new game you got yesterday? Yeah, I saw you trying to hide it when I came. Teach me that." Grabbing a joystick that she found in a compartment underneath the desk, she looked around for the disk.

Birkoff immediately grabbed the console from her hands. "No. Those are my things. I don't go to your room and play with your..." He stumbled, looking her over to find a good comeback.

"What? If you wanted to play dress up, Birkoff, you just have to say it. I'd be more than happy to show off my new make up applying skills."

"No thanks, you clumsy rat. You'd probably take one of my eyes out - and I'm wearing glasses."

She frowned angrily. "I am not a clumsy rat!" she shouted, trying to stand up and tackle him. Instead, her movement upset her far leaning chair, making it fall on it's back.

Nikita went with it, landing in a heap on the ground, her limbs entangled in chair and desk legs. She struggled to hurry and stand, but it only made things worse. Everyone was staring at her in amusement.

_"There she goes again."_

_"Never saw someone that had such a hard time just staying vertical."_

_"I wonder how long it will take until she can't show her face anymore?"_

Birkoff scowled at her, then looked up in relief. "Thank God. Michael, tell your material to pay attention and listen to me."

"You sound like a teacher's pet," Nikita whispered from her stressing spot, not daring to look behind her.

Michael gave a nod. "That won't be necessary. I'll be taking her now."

Nikita didn't like the sound of that. Taking her where, exactly?

Birkoff smirked, liking the slight terror he found displayed momentarily in her eyes.

A hand cupped her elbow, lifting her from the entanglement of her seat and helping her to her feet again. Michael kept the pressure there as he led her out of Systems.

"Where to now, Captain?" she asked with reddened cheeks, testing to see what kind of mood he was in, just in case today may be day he decided to display a new one.

"You'll see," was his only reply. Honestly, she was shocked he said anything at all.

He led her to a room that was dark. It was cold enough to make her skin break out in goose bumps on impact.

There was nothing in this room. It was completely bare.

"Solitary confinement? Come on, Michael, I haven't been that bad." Her tone registered in disappointment.

"Sit," he told her solidly, pointing to a spot on the floor.

She was out of her element. She did what she was told.

Across from her, at about a three foot range, he sat down as well. "You're going to learn how to be more graceful. I've asked Madeline to help out with this and she agreed. She'll teach you how to walk and how to proper your posture. Those things that will help you keep balance." He looked at her feet, which were crammed in to five inch heels. "I don't think you're ready for those, either. She'll get you better shoes."

"And what are you going to do?"

To her surprise, Michael took off his shoes. He wore no socks. He also shed his jacket, leaving him in a sleeveless, ribbed tank. With the soft curls of his reddish brown hair brushing against the bare of his shoulders, she saw him, for just an instant, in a different light. Had situations been different, she'd might have been very attracted to this man.

"I'm going to help you calm your thoughts. Pay more attention to what's around you. Balance on the inside. I thought we'd do meditation as the first step."

He started to tell her how to do it. Something about clearing your mind. Paying attention to your breathing.

Her attention was definitely not on her breathing. Rather, it was on his face, with his eyes closed. His chest rose and fell evenly. Deep breath in, slow breath out. He looked almost peaceful. Beautiful in the dim lighting that shone only from the window in the door.

Meditation with Michael just may prove to be the hardest thing she had to do yet.

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Nikita strummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. It made a nice, solid sound.

Michael's big hand covered her fingers, pressing them against the cool of the wood, stopping the rhythm.

"Don't do that," he said calmly. "It lets everyone see you're nervous."

"But I am nervous. Why shouldn't they know? Quite frankly, I'm terrified."

"I know you are. But you never let anyone know that. Nervousness is a sign of great weakness. And you're never weak. If you are, your captors will see it and know they can break you down."

"What happens if I break? Just out of curiosity. You never covered that part."

"I didn't think I had to. If you break, you'll be killed. You'll have betrayed your country. The innocents depending on you. You'll allow masses to die. So you don't break."

She bit her lip. Tapped the heel of her foot. Drummed her fingers again.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. His hand stayed on top of hers this time. The coolness of his gaze stopped her foot's movement. The ache in her lip made the fleshy part retreat from the inside of her mouth.

But she was still nervous.

"It's alright to be afraid," came the soft voice beside her again. "It's alright to be terrified. It's natural. What's not alright is to show it. You have to master it."

She met his gaze. "Like you have?"

He seemed to take her light comment deeply. A flash of hurt leapt across his features before quickly retreating, like it never happened at all. "Yes."

He was back to one word sentences. Obviously, she made a wrong move. She reprimanded herself privately, then did her best to calm her body.

"What happens next?" She asked, not able to stay quiet.

"Depends. In some situations, perhaps like this, they make you sit by yourself in the dark. Maybe for hours, perhaps for days. The key is to stay _silent_. The first thing an average human tends to do, man or woman, is to start talking to themselves to help calm their nerves. You don't do that. Those who are watching you see you're scared. And by talking, you're giving them random information that they'll find a way to use against you later, no matter what your words are. So you don't talk. And you don't do those nervous habits of yours."

Really, this whole scenario was starting to freak her out. They were in a room. She didn't know if it was large or small. But it was dark. She could see Michael because there was a small stream of light above them coming from the cracks in the ceiling. But beyond him, she couldn't see a thing.

Her waist was strapped to the chair by a belt type device that she wasn't able to take off. Her wrists and thighs were also strapped down.

She'd been like this for a long time. She had no watch, no visible clock in sight. Time didn't exist.

Michael sat beside her, sitting in a chair. He wasn't strapped down. He was just observing. Letting her know what to do. Trying to keep her calm. They were being taped. Every move she made would be shown off to Operations.

"I don't like the dark," she whispered, feeling the tears of fright well behind her eyes.

"Shh. That's a good example of what someone says in this type of situation while they're rambling. Now the terrorists that are holding you know that. What do you think they'll do with it?"

"...Use it against me?"

"Right. So don't speak."

"What if I said something that I'm not scared of? Like...what if I said I was afraid of kittens? Would they lock me in a room with kittens?"

"Perhaps. But they wouldn't be normal cats."

She frowned. "Michael, I don't like the dark." She knew her voice sounded like a little child's. She hadn't meant it to sound that way.

It hit a chord in Michael. Her hand trembled beneath his. The dark was really getting to her, and fast.

"Nikita," he whispered, her name rolling easily off his accented tongue. "There's nothing to be scared of. This is just a room in Section. You're not really captured. Nothing bad will happen to you. Those men that dragged you out of your room to here are operatives you see every day - you just couldn't see their faces. This room is just like any other. It's just dark. It gets dark every night. You sleep in an atmosphere like this."

Nikita shifted her eyes. She didn't sleep exactly like this. She had a little night light that shone upon her face and comforted her.

Michael seemed to know that too and gently skipped over it. "Breathe through it. Put your thoughts to good things. Take your mind away from the situation. Don't focus on the negative parts. You can do this, Nikita. I know you can."

She allowed his words to sink in, the calmness and the soothing tone helping to steady her racing heart. She had a fear of darkness like this. She didn't like it at all. But, ironically enough, if she had to be sitting here, she was glad Michael was with her. He may be a pain. He may scold her and make her feel utterly inferior. And he may disapprove of everything she does, but he had an aura about him. Something that made her feel safe while near him. She didn't fear death or dark. He seemed to look at her with protectiveness in his eyes. And she appreciated it more than she could possibly say.

"You've been quiet for nearly ten minutes now. Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "You told me to be silent."

He looked at her in approval, perhaps for the first time. Shame she could barely make out any features on his face. "Good."

It was boring in here. Despite Michael's presence and knowing Operations would be watching her, she felt too trapped and lonely. The feeling wasn't welcomed at all.

Michael's aura dimmed as her thoughts tred on dangerous ground. She remembered the last time she was trapped in the dark.

She heard something that called her back to attention. It sounded like a child's whimper.

By the way Michael was looking at her, she soon realized it had escaped her own throat.

"Nikita?"

She nodded and looked away. Her thoughts pulled her back to a little space. Cramped. Only a foot or so of space between a rack of clothing and the locked door.

Another childlike whimper. How did that keep happening?

There wasn't enough air in here. No, in that closet, not here. She looked around. It was dark like that closet. She had been in here for a long time, like then.

She had been trapped in that closet for over a day. Terrified.

Her mother's drunken boyfriend had locked her in there after not coming home the night before. Of course she hadn't come home - he had been fired from his job and he was throwing things everywhere. Glass crashing in to wall. Dishes shattering on floors. Chairs cracking against tables. It was a horrible sight. She had fled. And when she returned home, she was prisoned in a closet.

"I can't breath!" Nikita suddenly heard herself scream. "I can't breath!" When she heard the words, she realized they were true. Her chest was restricting. She couldn't fill her lungs. She flailed her arms and kicked her legs, trying to get out of the chair. Michael was talking to her, but she couldn't make out the words over her own panic.

She felt release on her waist, then her arms and legs. She tried to bolt, but she didn't know where she was going. She knocked in to a wall. She felt like a butterfly trapped in a jar. No way out. Escape was just an illusion.

Just like Section.

She let out a blood curdling scream, pounding her fists against the hard, concrete wall.

Suddenly, she felt herself lifted and moving. When light finally broke around her, she saw that she had been thrown over Michael's shoulder. He had rushed her out.

"Calm down, Nikita. Breathe deep. In, out." He seemed genuinely concerned. Worried. It was almost endearing.

"No more closets," She gasped in between rapid inhales.

"Closets? Nikita, look." He flicked on the lights inside the room. She looked in shock at the familiar setting. It was the same place Michael used for mediation. A place of peace had turned in to a nightmare. The room wasn't very small or too large. It was a normal sized. Alike her bedroom.

"I don't like dark closets," She repeated, after evaluating the room.

She knew he didn't understand what that meant, but he nodded anyway. "We'll get you through that," he promised, his eyes intense on hers as he took her wrist and led her back to her room.

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"Michael, may I see you in my office?" Madeline asked with a smile as they passed in the hall.

His eyes closed, weary physically and mentally after his latest session with Nikita. He nodded, turning in his walk to follow her.

Once in her office, she sat down behind her desk gracefully, folding her hands in her lap. Michael simply stood in front of her, awaiting the charges.

"I see that Nikita's progress is...less than what Section considers adequate. Her classes...mathematics, history and geography, languages, literature...she's barely passing in any. Her defense and attack motives, despite your best work, is weak, at best. She's finally taken to wanting to look like a lady, but that won't get her past the first evaluation. And the results of her in the dark room were...well, I think we need a different approach."

Her words rang true. Michael had to agree with her. "What approach?"

"I was thinking of giving her less classes and working on more...practical skills for a little while."

"Go easier on her?" Michael was quite surprised at what he was hearing, to say the least.

"Not easier. We'll simply change her mind set. She'll learn everything she needs to know to live on her own. Maybe if she sees a light at the end of the tunnel...she'll respond better. There's no denying that she is a lovely girl. She's beautiful and convincing. Obviously, she's smart when she puts her mind to something. We've seen that through her trouble making. Most here have some wild spirit in them that takes a while to break. If we cancelled every one of them, Section wouldn't exist. But we can't waste time. If she's to stay here, she'll have to learn." Madeline pushed her computer screen towards Michael's direction.

It contained a full list of different things for Nikita to learn. Cooking. Driving. Cleaning. How to operate a washing and drying machine. How to buy food for one and two. Learning how to coop with womanly problems while in public. And at the top of the long list, was dancing. "Are these in order?" Was his only question.

Madeline smiled with a slight shake of her head. "No, you can pick and choose which you'd like to teach her, as long as it coordinates with my schedule as well. Obviously, you'll need my assistance for a few of them. The only demand is that I deeply suggest you teach her these as quickly as possible. I'd like her to know at least half of all this before her evaluation, along with furthering her defense and attack motives and acing the classes she has left. I'll eliminate half of them. Her schooling may take longer, but if she passes the evaluations, it'll be worth it in the end."

Michael couldn't agree more. With a quick nod, he acknowledged her new and improved plan, then walked out to tell his material about the lucky break.

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	8. IIIIIIII

"Burrrr...it's freezing! I can't go in there!" Nikita exclaimed, her arms wrapped firmly around her as she shivered.

"Get in the pool," her instructor said. The woman kept pointing to the water and sending daggers towards the recruit's way.

"It's too cold! I'll freeze to death!"

"You won't freeze."

"Yes I will!"

"No, you won't."

"Yes! Yes I will! I'll freeze to death. And then it won't matter that I listened to you because I'll already be dead and then-"

"Nikita, in the pool now." This did not come from the woman instructor. It came from Michael, standing in the far corner, dressed from neck to toe in black. He was monitoring the session, but he wasn't getting near the pool. Or swimming trunks, for that matter.

His tone was stern, no room for nonsense. With a look of stubborn anger and her teeth clenched together, she slowly made her way in to the cold, cold pool until she was standing waist deep in it.

"So? N-now w-what?" she asked as her teeth started to chatter.

The instructor got in to the water with ease. She allowed her body to go horizontal to the water, and then started to slowly kick her legs and arms as she demonstrated what to do.

"Now you."

She tried, really she did. But the water temperature was so low and the water was so thin...she just couldn't make it work. After swallowing a few mouthfuls of water, she stomped out of the water, then grabbed a fluffy large towel to drape around her.

Nikita tried to keep her gaze away, but it was as if a magnetic force was pulling her. She looked to Michael, who was staring at her in disappointment.

"No one can shoot people underwater," she said with disdain for the chore. "I don't see why I should be forced to learn it. I did fine on land for nineteen years."

"You lived on the streets. You killed a cop. We found you in prison. You weren't doing very fine," he pointed out, walking up to her dripping form. "Not all missions are on land. Sometimes you're dropped off of boats or helicopters, even planes. You land in oceans and seas. You have to swim to shore. I know when you were on the streets, you didn't need to learn how to swim. There was no reason to know how. But you're in a new place now, with new rules you must learn to obey. You have to learn to swim."

"Why must I if you don't know how?" she retorted.

"I do know how."

She held back the devilish smile that she felt creeping up on her. "Then why aren't you in any fancy swimming shorts and in that water? Why must I have a different instructor for this one?"

He stayed silent for a moment, his mouth opening once to speak, just to shut again. Finally, he grabbed another folded towel from nearby and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"You'll try again tomorrow," was his reply at last.

"It's too cold. I can't swim in that. My teeth are ch-chattering!"

He nodded. "And your lips are blue. I know the water is cold. But no one is going to be there to warm up the ocean water when you have to hide in it. You're not going to freeze to death. I won't let you get catch any sicknesses. This is training for survival. It's something you have to do. Tomorrow, you'll try again. Now, it's time for Geography."

She groaned loudly. "I hate that class. There's too many countries and too many cities. There's not enough room in here to remember them all."

He watched her finger tap upon her head in her emphases. "Wait until you must learn how to speak the languages of all those countries." The corners of his lips turned upwards, ever so slightly. Not quite a smile, but he wasn't angry at her for her failed lesson. "Go get dressed and head to class. I'll be at the gym afterwards. I believe we may have some time before Walter takes you for shooting lessons."

Perhaps the cold water was freezing her brain and making her unable to think, but she actually felt, for a split moment, a feeling of anxiousness to see Michael again, even if it was just in the gym. He may not always be in a good mood. He may get angry at her and threaten her life, but he made her feel...well, like not such an outsider. He acted as her anchor. Something to look to in times of desperation. When her fright and anger got the best of her, she thought of the effort Michael was putting in to her recruitment. It wasn't much, but it helped.

She nodded a goodbye, then listened as her feet made wet flapping noises on the hard floor.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Swimming the next day didn't go as well as planned. The water seemed to feel even colder, the woman instructor seemed less patient, and Nikita simply couldn't get the water to hold her weight enough to keep her from sinking to the bottom of the wide pool.

Michael watched from the corner, looking none too pleased. With his hands crossed in front of him and his posture as straight as a board, he seemed intimidating from her low position.

"We're going to try the deep end now," the instructor said. She had a name, Nikita knew, but she couldn't remember it to save her life.

"The deep end?" she cried out. "I can't even handle the shallow!"

"But you're going to. If you want to swim, you'll swim," came the latest theory. Most of the others had failed miserably. This one was bound to as well. "In the deep end, your feet aren't touching anything. You have to force yourself to stay afloat. You must swim."

Nikita really didn't like the idea of this, but it was made apparent that she had no choice. Standing outside the pool, staring in to the deep blue, she suddenly felt herself falling. Her body tensing from fear and cold. Her air supply cut off.

She was drowning. This was it, she was going to die. Right here, right now. In this pool. She'd never even get the chance to see if she could succeed in training. Not that she had high hopes anyway, but still.

She was going to suffocate under the weight of the water, all while Michael just stood in the corner and watched. Surely he didn't believe this theory could work? Or maybe he wanted her dead. Maybe it would be easier on him. If she died, he wouldn't fail. It was an accident, he could say. It was suicide, was another. After all, if she could do it once, albeit fake, she could do it again for real.

She started to thrash her arms and legs around, staring up at what she thought was the surface of the water. She wasn't all too sure anymore. It didn't matter anyway. She was far from any escape, and her limbs weren't carrying her anywhere.

A loud splash sent waves towards her, making things all the harder to fight. She was losing the battle, she could feel herself sinking lower. Away from the light. In to the darkness. Fear gripped her heart. Her lungs stung in pain, begging for air and receiving none. How much longer until her body gave up?

The waves grew worse. She felt her head bang against the side of the pool wall, making her feel dizzy in her already fuzzy mind.

Finally, her fingertips struck something. Something hard, but not a wall. Something that grasped back.

She was being pulled. An arm came around her waist. She felt more legs entangled in hers.

Her chest still burned, but her fear was rapidly receding.

Her face met with the harsh air, making her instantly start to gasp for breath. None was coming. The panic was there again. She was ashore, out of the water, and she still couldn't breath. It was too late!

On her hands and knees, all weak and shaking, she suddenly felt a pounding on her back.

And then the water came out. The air went in. Her lungs started to work again.

Her eyes stung as they opened. Tears immediately filled them, spilling down her cheeks.

"Are you alright?" Soft, full of concern. It was a voice she knew well by now.

Michael was kneeling beside her, his hand on her back still, watching her intently. He was soaked, from his sleeveless shirt to his baggy pants to his soggy shoes he hadn't bothered to take off before jumping in to save her.

She nodded in an answer, and his attention was pulled away. As she focused on exhaling and inhaling at a normal rate, she was barely able to pay attention to Michael shouting at the instructor. Something about leaving. Perhaps abeyance? What did that mean? So far, she hadn't heard of the word. But it sounded bad. It sounded dangerous.

The instructor left in a huff. After giving Nikita a few more pats on the back, Michael stood up, crossed the room, grabbed a few towels, then slipped on his coat over his sopping clothing.

He walked back to Nikita, crouching in front of her and taking a piece of paper from his pocket after handing her the load of towels. The list of things he needs to teach his material before it was evaluation time. It was a long list, and obviously, swimming wouldn't be crossed off any time soon.

"Shall we try..." He went silent for a moment, scanning the list up and down for something he was confident she couldn't mess up. But no, with each skill mentioned, an imagery of what could go wrong popped in to his head. "...kitchen duties?"

Nikita looked up at him with watery blue eyes. She let out a series of coughs and wheezes for an answer.

OoooooooooooooooooooooO

Michael watched Nikita make her way out of the gym. She was wiping beads of sweat from her forehead with her arm, carrying her shoes in the other hand. She knows the rules. She's not to walk out of the gym without her shoes on. But at the moment, it doesn't seem like she cares.

Was it just his imagination, or was Nikita doing worse every time she went to study her martial arts? The one class she took that was to be guaranteed to beat some respect and discipline in to her.

He wouldn't have to wonder long. Even if Nikita hadn't noticed him standing across the room, the sensei had.

"Michael, may I have a word with you?" Sensei Masioki asked in a cautious tone.

Obviously, this was about something Nikita did. With a nod, he led the way to his office, shutting the door behind them and putting in the code to block bugs he suspected were in the little room.

"It's about Nikita. Now, I've tried my best to keep my patience with her. I've been trying my best to teach her. But no matter what I do, she refuses to respond. I'm at the end of my rope here. I don't know where else to go with her."

Michael closed his eyes. He had thought that Nikita had been getting better. Besides the D minus she received on her Mathematics yesterday and the failed attempts at swimming, her attitude had seemed to be improving. Obviously, she was acting up while he wasn't around.

"What has she been doing, Masi?"

The smaller man seemed to be hesitant in telling. How bad had she been? "Well, she's been fighting...dirty," he said as he rolled up his sleeve. Right near his shoulder was two large bite marks. "There's large bruises on my arms and legs. All over. You know I'm the best, Michael. I don't let petty recruits hurt me. But she attacks when there's no fights. Or when I'm in the middle of talking or giving an example. She tells me she doesn't need training. That she can fight just fine on her own. So every time I call on her, she tries to prove that. I can't keep her on much longer. She's making everyone else act up. And those that stand up to her, she does the same as to me. I have two recruits with black eyes and another that has a broken nose because they try to fight the right away. She fights like she's on the streets. It's going to get her killed."

Michael's jaw set. A vein throbbed against his throat. This news was less than welcomed, to say the very least. He'd known Masioki for many years. The thought of Nikita beating him up and giving him trouble was more than he could take.

"I'll take care of her. You won't have any more problems from now on."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

He waited, less than patient, for Nikita to show up. He paced back and forth, his hands clenched together behind him. She was late, only making his temper towards her worse.

When she finally did show her presence, she was smiling, full of childlike innocence. It nearly destroyed his resolve, but then he remembered the bruises and bite marks. She wouldn't be smiling for long.

He waited as she took of her shoes and put them in the corner. Then, as she was straightening her gi, he grabbed her around the waist and slammed her down on the floor.

She was so shocked that her eyes bulged, her breath taken away. When she finally regained her composure, she was furious.

"What the hell was that for?" she screamed, eyeing up his leg and her shoes.

"What's wrong? I thought you liked playing dirty."

Her eyes reduced to slits. "What are you talking about? You all tell me to fight for survival. Then when I do, you want to scold me?"

"You're to fight with discipline. With respect for your peers and mentors. We fight with skills, not with petty street moves."

"Obviously, those petty street moves are pretty good if I can keep beating up the teachers."

Fire flicked in his eyes. He grabbed her arm and threw her over his back. She went tumbling, but quickly stood back up.

"What's going on? What do you want?"

He walked a few steps closer to her. She stepped back. "Masi is the best of the best. He doesn't have to teach any recruits he doesn't want to. He talks directly to Operations. But he was being kind. He talked to me. He gave you chance after chance, but now he's on his last nerve. You're risking cancellation, once again. Before you even reach first evaluation. I won't allow you to continue here if you're going to disrespect him. I'd rather see you cancelled than another bruise on his back. So we're going to settle this, right now. You think your way is best. I've mastered every martial art move that is taught here. Everything you need to know to survive. You have your street fighting, which you think is better. So prove it. I'll let you attack first."

She was hesitant, of course. She had sparred with him plenty of times before to know how good he was. A part of her knew that she hadn't a chance. That he would beat her again.

But then, another part of her realized that she had never used her 'dirty tricks' on him before. She had always tried to fight how he wanted her to. Now he wanted her to fight street. She could do that.

She circled him, contemplating what to attack first. But before any limb could stretch out to make contact, she was on her back again.

"Hey!" she yelled, her face turning red. "You said I had first attack."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I lied. You can never trust your opponent. Expect his next move. Always keep an eye on him."

He was angry at her. He was challenging her. Yet he was still, as always, in teacher mode.

She let out a kick, aiming for his solar plexus. But he had anticipated it. Grabbing her ankle and twisting, she fell on her face with a grunt.

She tried to swipe his legs from under him, but he stood firm. She tried to kick a leg, he merely stepped back. She stood up and tried to elbow his stomach, but he ended up twisting her arm behind her back and keeping it there.

She turned her head and tried to bite his shoulder. He slapped her jaw hard enough to force her head straight again.

She was losing this fight badly. And quickly. She didn't stand a chance, but her temper was building. She tried a head butt. But somehow, it landed her on the floor.

She had enough. It was obvious enough that she had long lost. Rolling on to her hands and knees, she quickly crawled to a corner, putting her hands on her head so he couldn't pull her hair.

He looked at her with disappointment. No operative should ever even think about giving up in a fight, yet clearly she was. It just proved how much she had to learn still.

He tapped her leg with the top of his foot. "Nikita, get up," he said in a tired voice.

But she just shook her head. "No, you're being mean," she mumbled.

"I'm not being mean. Get up."

But she stayed put. Instead, he crouched down to her level, took her wrists in his hands, and brought them down between them. "I'm not being mean," he repeated. "I'm being nice. I'm trying to save your life. Why can you not see that?" His voice was soft, almost sorrowful. He was at the end of his rope, just like Masi. He didn't know how to make his point any clearer. "No one here is going to go easy on you. And if you think that anyone on the outside will, you're very wrong. When you're on missions, you're associating with some of the most dangerous, fierce people in the world. It's the real deal. So when they beat the hell out of you Nikita, you can't just crawl away. They'll kill you."

"If they don't, you will. What's the difference?" she asked, trying to keep the tears from her eyes.

Michael was silent for a moment. His eyes showed his turmoil as he wrestled with his thoughts. "I won't lie to you about this. Section is a hard place to live. It only gets harder. More dangerous. It's never fun. You're never free. Our work is mean. It's ruthless. It's scarring and horrible. But believe it or not, it's for a good cause. It's easy to forget that, but we're the good guys. Saving hundreds of lives every day. Innocent people. Families. Because of us, families come home from work and school, eat dinner together blissfully, go to bed and sleep peacefully, even when there are terrorists trying to blow up their city. They never know, because we stop the bad guys. But in order to do that, we have to know what we're doing. And yes, if the terrorists don't kill you, there's always the chance Section will. The difference is..." He paused, staring intensely in to her eyes. As if this was the most important lesson he had taught so far. "The difference is that you die with honor. Not from being a drug addict. Not from freezing to death in the winter from being on the streets. Perhaps no one in the outside world will remember you. Because you officially died a worthless person. But when you really die...you'll be remembered here by your peers. You'll know that your life meant something. That you're an unknown hero to so many. And I'd say that beats that alternatives."

He ceased his talking, but she kept staring, not sure how to respond to that. There were no smart remarks, no comebacks and no wise cracks to mock his words. He was being sincere.

"I don't want to fight anymore today," she whispered, a knot clogging her throat.

His grasp tightened. "I'm not letting you out of here unless you've learned the lesson."

Her eyes shifted back and forth. Which one? "I've learned."

"I hope you have. Because I want you to remember, I'll recommend your cancellation immediately if you keep acting out against your sensei." He was very serious, making it clear he meant every word.

But it wasn't fair, always having to back down. Why did Michael always have to win? A little chat, and Nikita was forced back in to submission. The same old threat, every time. Always losing. She'd listen to him this time, but her patience was rubbing off quickly. She was used to depressing settings. Of being hurt and not paid attention to. She was used to her will being beaten down, but this was pushing her. Losing wasn't something she was very fond of. And she was determined to make it stop.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	9. IIIIIIIII

**A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I've reached a slight writer's block as to what should follow this, so I thought I'd post this while I'm waiting for ideas. **

"Keep your shoulders back and level. One foot in front of the other. No, gracefully. Try it slower."

It was no use. Nikita's attention was broken in to shards today. How could she focus in being graceful in four inch heels while she couldn't stop the embarrassed smile upon her face? If only Michael didn't stare so intently. Why was he in here anyway? He never came to her sessions with Madeline, but today he stood, watching in the corner, as if he had nothing better to do with his time.

Nikita took a stumble, but saved herself from falling on her face. Letting out a groan, she kicked off the wretched shoes and sank in to a chair.

She could feel the stare of both Madeline and Michael upon her, though they remained silent for a moment as she toyed with what they might be thinking. Though it was quite obvious that they were not pleased with her progress. Or lack of it.

"Nikita," Michael started to say, but she quickly whipped out a crumbled piece of paper from her pocket and pushed it towards him.

"You can't expect me to learn it all at once! Look at this - I am improving. I am trying. You can't keep yelling at me night and day just because I can't walk on stilts and float on the top of liquid," She shouted stubbornly with a pout.

The paper had a large red B in the corner, with a small note of good praise. Michael took it from her fist with a look of interest. Then he looked at Madeline, handing it to her.

"Good, your grades are rising. I'm quite pleased," Madeline said with her easy smile. "For this occasion, I'll grant you the rest of the day off from my lessons. Michael?"

He nodded, waiting as an excited Nikita quickly shoved her feet in her beat up converses.

"Where are we going to now?"sShe asked, galloping over to him like she was five. Okay, so it probably wasn't the best method of motion in front of Madeline, but too often her thoughts came minutes after her actions.

Instead of answering, he led the way out of the large office and down a few floors until they reached two white doors.

She stepped back with a frown. "Is this another one of those new scary places? Should I show you the test again? I'm doing better, you know. There's no reason to get out the scary hide outs."

Michael raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, then turned to open the doors. Inside, was rows of gym equipment. Tred mills, bikes, bars nailed to walls. Everything you need to...

"You're going to get in to top shape. I want you to spend every moment you're not in class, with me or Madeline, or studying, in here. If you can at least build muscle before the first evaluation, I suppose Operations will overlook your clumsiness in heels. Remember, you have to give him reasons to keep you on. Let this room help you with one of those reasons, and help you in our lessons. Swimming is one of the best things you can do for exercising, but since we have yet to master that..."

He drifted off. He certainly didn't need to finish that sentence. She knew well enough.

Nikita nodded, wandering in to look around at the big machines that looked like they could hurt her just as much as Michael could when sparring.

"You need skills. I'll give you the weekend to get your body used to a routine of working out in here. And then we'll start on..." His hand wrapped around the list in his pocket. Full of skills that he dreaded having to teach Nikita, for his safety and for her heartache. "Well, we'll start on something."

"Okay." She responded, taking a square of bubble gum from her pocket, unwrapping it and popping it in to her mouth. "Does Birkoff work out in here too?" she questioned, her brain already working hard on hatching evil little plans for the slightly younger teen.

The eyebrows upon Michael's forehead raised, ever so slightly in amusement. "Focus, Nikita," he reminded her, then turned away. "I'll see you Monday," He reminded her over his shoulder, retreating to his office and leaving her to warm up to the sterile room.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Nikita showed up in Michael's office Monday morning, looking worse for the wear. Her hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush in many a day, her shoulders sagging close to the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asked, rising from his chair.

She nodded wearily, her eyelids drooping. "Tired. Those exercising machines hurt. I'm so stiff."

"A sparring session should help stretch out your cramped muscles. Perhaps we'll start with that today. We wouldn't want you to be driving with cramped legs."

Her eyes bulged. "W-what? Driving? Really?" She was somewhere between elation and fright for the idea. "I get to drive?"

Michael cleared his throat, wondering if the idea of buying himself a heavy duty helmet wasn't such a bad idea. "Yes."

She jumped up and down on the balls of her feet, taking her lip between the sharp of her teeth. "My body isn't all that stiff. Lets just skip to the driving lessons. Can we start now?"

"No, we'll spar first," Michael said firmly. If it was possible that he could prolong his car accident death, he'd like to.

With a groan of submission, she turned and led the way down the halls to the gym. Adding a skip and a twirl every once in a while just for effect. Michael followed a few feet behind, wondering if distance could make their connection private to the onlookers.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Michael looked over at her. He still couldn't believe his eyes. Was he really letting Nikita, who's reputation around Section was for her clumsiness, be in charge of something that weighed two thousand pounds - and contained him inside? Perhaps he should have kissed his pregnant wife goodbye this morning. Hugged her for a little longer. Just in case.

Her hands were shaking as she clutched the steering wheel. Placing his hand at her elbow, he tried to make her relax from her stiff form. "Don't lock your arms. Keep them loose."

She looked over at him with wide eyes. "Which one is the gas pedal?" She squeaked, shrinking in to the seat.

Michael sighed, showing her again. "Now, put the gear in to drive."

One shaky hand fell from the wheel and grasped the clutch. She tried to shove it down, but it didn't budge. She made a panicky noise that came from the back of her throat.

If he made a call to Elena right now, would it seem too suspicious? Would it do more harm than good? His eyes slid to his cell attached to the belt. No, he'd forgo it and rough it out.

"Push in the brake, then pull down."

He car lurched a moment later, making him grab on to the sides of his plush seats. "Careful, Nikita. Easy. Slowly start applying pressure to the gas. Yeah, there you go. A little faster. Faster..."

Why was he pushing her to make this ton go faster? It would only do more damage to him when they hit the wall. Or tree. Perhaps a pole? Please, don't let it get any of Operation's possessions.

Oh yes, that's why he kept pushing her. She was going five miles per hour. Could she really be pushing the gas at this speed?

Lurch. Stop. Lurch. Lurch. Stop. He was starting to become sea sick, which he didn't get even when he was in the middle of the ocean.

"Nikita?"

She whimpered, making the car suddenly stop. Michael just dodged hitting his head against the window."Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

She took a breath, then looked at him with a brave smile. "Yep, I'm doing good. You?"

He was tempted to speak his mind, but silenced himself. "Maybe we should go back inside. I think it's going to rain. We wouldn't want to get the road slippery." _It may make you go a whole ten miles per hour._

Nikita seemed just fine with that idea, and let go of the wheel. Before putting the gear in to park. The car started to go again to the side. Michael quickly grabbed the wheel and slammed the gear in to place, while masking the look of panic that filled his eyes.

He got out of the car, able to breath again. Then he motioned for Nikita to come with, far away from the car.

Driving might not be too good of an idea for her. Neither was swimming. Surely he'd find something for her to perfect before the seven weeks remaining were up?

When they were passing by Systems, Michael studying the list harder than ever, Birkoff called out to him and ran over.

"Michael, there's been-" He stopped, laying eyes on Nikita, who was licking a lollipop and reading the list, oblivious to her surroundings. "Uh...Operations just told me to tell you that an Elena called. She said it's time. I've been trying to find you, I think she said she lost your new number."

Nikita's head popped up. "Time for what?"

Birkoff's cheeks flooded in red as he bit his inner cheek. "Sorry," He apologized quickly, then scurried back to his desk.

"Time for what? Who's Elena?" she repeated, wrapping her tongue around the candy at a new angle to get the most flavor.

Michael shook his head. "I have to go. I want you to get back to the gym and start working out until it's time for your Literature lesson. Don't forget your lesson with Sensei Masioki in four hours. Make sure you warm up before going so you don't give him more grief when you spar. I may not be in tomorrow. If I'm not, report to Madeline. She'll take care of your lessons for the day." He checked his watch. "I have to go." Putting on the jacket he had just taken off when coming back inside, he turned and headed out again, leaving Nikita standing in the middle of Section, trying to process what she had just heard.

And when had Michael taken the time to memorize her entire weekly schedule?

"Who's Elena?" she whispered to herself, wondering why Michael had reacted so quickly for such an ambiguous message. There was no use trying to pump information out of Birkoff, so she headed back to her room to get her workout clothing on.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	10. IIIIIIIIII

_A/N: I'm thrilled that everyone still likes this story! I always fear when writing a long story that it'll become redundant and bland, so it's great to hear it's not!_

Nikita watched as Madeline cut her little boiled bird in to tiny, bite sized pieces. She made it look effortless, though Nikita knew better. That little bird that laid upon her plate really didn't have any meat upon it. It was all bones under thick, crackling skin. It was impossible to cut, especially so with such dull knives. Were they thinking that eating this thing was so stressful that the young recruit might use the knife against herself to get out of the torture? Well, if so, they just might have been right.

Pushing the dish away, her focus fell again upon Madeline. She was just about to say something, anything to break the silence, when Birkoff's voice came on the speaker. "Michael's on the phone for you."

Madeline gave a polite reply, then picked up her little slip of a cell and held it to her ear. "Yes Michael? Good, I'm glad. Are you at the hospital still? That's fine. When can we expect you back? Yes, she's doing well. And Elena? Any show of Vaschek? Alright. Fine, goodbye." The conversation was quick, and obviously right to the point. Nikita's heart fluttered, thinking of her missing mentor being on the other line. Had he asked about her? She tried to hide the smile by looking down at that pesky chicken thing. Or was it quail? Maybe some English bird. In the end, it didn't really matter.

"Why's Michael at the hospital?" She said when she couldn't hold it back any longer. "And what did Birkoff mean yesterday by 'it's time'? What's going on? And who's Elena?" She held back the burning question of '_and did he really ask about me?'_

Madeline's lips turned up in a thin smile. "Michael's with an old friend who was in a car accident not long ago. Reckless driver. She had to have a surgery, which was yesterday, and why we let Michael go. This is why you must be careful while driving. You're never allowed to drink alcohol during a mission, but in case you do so while you're on your off time, you never drive afterwards. I'm sure Michael will cover this. And you probably encountered those types of problems while you were living your old life."

What was with all the people around here? Why did a normal conversation always have to have a lesson in it? "When...when will he be coming back?"

"Tomorrow." Madeline replied, before taking a little piece of meat to chew. "Until then, you'll be doing your other classes. You did finished your school classes already? I believe Walter has time to give you another lesson or at least lend out a few pointers when it comes to his equipment. I'll contact him next. Eat your food, Nikita."

"Can I use my fingers?" She asked in hope.

"That wouldn't be very lady like, would it? You're in a lesson. You're here to learn how to eat like a woman, not a child. Pick up your fork and knife and do as I do."

Nikita tried to work around the three large framing bones to get in to the assumed meat beneath. Instead, the bird slid off of the plate.

Madeline looked away and pretended she didn't see the mishap, though the tell tale sign of sauce stain was left upon the pristine white tablecloth.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Though she wasn't fond of the hold of a gun, Nikita joyously skipped through Section and towards Munitions. If she was lucky, she could pull off just enough sweet talk to make the old man forget about any silly shooting lessons. It was a history lesson she wanted. And with him being that old and here that long, the man was bound to be a whole library worth of tales. If only she could get him to crack.

But when she got there, she stopped her skipping midstride to scowl at the another who had beat her.

"Oh no, Walter. Don't look now, but the accident prone klutz is here. You better put away all your sharp objects fast."

"Geek." Nikita stuck her tongue out at Birkoff and passed him to walk up to Walter. "Is he leaving?" She asked with a plea in her eyes.

"Are you two still at this? Isn't it getting tiring yet? One day, when you pass all your evaluations-"

"If, you mean." Birkoff interrupted. Walter looked at him with disapproval.

"No, I mean when you do, Nikita, you'll be sent on missions. And it'll be this kid's voice in your ear ninety percent of the time. It'll be up to him to save your sweet little bottom, along with the rest of your fine body, while you're out there risking your life. Birkoff, if she messes up while you're on comm, it'll be you that Operations looks for answers first. And if she always messes up while you're on call, it'll be you that gets in to trouble and looks bad. So I suggest the two of you make nice before it gets to that point."

Birkoff snorted. "Whatever. I have to get back to my station. Some of us already have made it past evaluations."

"Yeah, and some of us already made it past puberty!" Nikita shot back at his retreating form. When she looked back at Walter, he saw him trying to suppress a laugh.

"You know somethin', Sugar? You're something else."

She kissed his cheek. "I do know. But what I don't is what's up with Michael right now."

"You mean his temporary downtime?" He asked, his smile fading.

"Yeah. Madeline told me an old friend of his was in the hospital and needed surgery. But I don't understand...since when are we allowed to have old friends outside of Section? I thought that was rule number one?"

"It is." Walter assured with a sigh.

"Then how does he get an old friend and no one else does?"

Walter sat down on his stool, looking in to his large microscope to something small, square and full of tiny wires beneath it. "Well...Michael's the exception of many things."

Nikita waited for more, but nothing came. He just picked up a pair of strange looking tweezers and started to pick away at the strange little thing. The tool might have come in handy back in Madeline's lesson with the bird.

"For some hippy, all loving old guy, you sure are uptight about giving me much needed information." She wrapped her arms around one of his. "Come on, Walter. I know you know more than you let on. You seem to be the go to guy for getting things off everyone's chest. You must be full of juicy stories."

He chuckled deep in his throat. "Oh, I know things you wouldn't believe, Sugar. Juicy? More like drenched with...well, I couldn't tell you."

Nikita stuck her lower lip out in a pout, but Walter just shook his head. "Won't work. Well...maybe...no, no it won't. I can't help you out there. But as far as I know, Michael's at the hospital visiting an old friend. I haven't heard much of anything until you just told me."

"Is that what you say or what you know?"

"How will you know what I know if all you know is what I say?" He let out another laugh, turning back to his work.

With a sigh, she sat down across from him.

"Oh, no you don't. We're going to start our lesson in just a minute. I just have to get this wire right over here..."

She groaned as her shoulders drooped. He hadn't forgotten. "You know, you can be just as ruthless on me as Michael can."

He looked up with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "Lord, I hope so." He said with a growl. The dirty old uncle act was back again. Shutting off the overhead light, he put his little bizarre toys away and walked back to the shooting gallery, beckoning her to follow. "Come on, Sugar. The sooner we start, the sooner you can go back to harassing poor little Birkoff."

She hopped off her stool and hurried to catch up.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Nikita walked down the hallways with a smile on her face. She was finished for the day. She had made it through every class, lesson and workout without Michael. With no one breathing down her back. It was a little lonely, but it was freeing at the same time. It was a nice change of pace.

And since she liked that feeling of no one tagging behind her, she was walking down to the area where they housed the recruits. Her friends when she wanted to have a little fun.

But when she reached there, no one was very happy. In fact, they looked downright sad. Three of the faces she recognized were sitting on the bed that belonged to the only face that was missing.

"What's going on?" She asked with uncertainty.

"You know Frank?"

Frank? No. Unless that was the name of the recruit who was missing. Seeing that they were standing in his room, she guessed that he and Frank were one of the same. "Yeah. What about him?"

"He's dead. He was cancelled today. We just found out. He's just...gone."

"We're scared as hell here. We think he got cancelled because his mentor found his tattoo yesterday."

"Only yesterday?" was her first shocked reply. Michael had found hers within hours of it placed upon her body! But...Frank was dead? Dead? Killed? Murdered?

"It's only a matter of time before the other mentors find our tattoos and figure it out."

"What if Frank told them who the rest of us are? We'd be dead for sure! We'll just drop like flies!"

"Maybe we could get some make up from Madeline and start covering them up. We only need to make it to being an operative. After that, I hear they let you out. And then they have no proof."

"It's good you came down today," The one girl said to Nikita, "or you might not have known. Make sure you keep yours covered. After all, that head was pretty big."

Nikita pulled down her shirt a little farther. She certainly couldn't tell them she wasn't in danger like them because her tattoo had been removed. "Yeah, that's good. But they just cancelled him? Just like that?"

"From what I hear, Operations don't even need to have a reason. If he just wants to cancel you, he does. Just like that. You're dead."

Nikita nodded. She had heard the same. But she had never thought it really happened. She clenched her hands in to fists, feeling them tremble. This place, her surroundings, they were starting to become real. What she was and who they wanted her to be were starting to become real. And it was scary.

She wished Michael was here. She felt the strong need to see him. To talk. To yell and scream. To punch and kick. Because he was her face of Section. He represented these people who just killed anyone left and right. It wasn't fair. But it was frightening. It felt as if a collar was suddenly around her neck, and someone kept pulling the leash tighter and tighter. Until she suffocated.

She liked playing. She liked being light hearted and skipping those classes that made her feel any different. She liked laughing and skipping around and putting on make up.

She didn't like this. Because this was all of Michael's threats coming to life. This was that leash pulled the tightest it could go. This was sucking all the life out of her.

A girl on the bed started to cry. She must have read Nikita's thoughts, because if Nikita was any less self conscious, she would be weeping on spot.

Death was one adventure she wasn't ready for just yet. Hell, she wasn't brave enough to take a swim! So much for her plan to cut loose and be the one who's always right instead of Michael. Maybe that plan would have to wait a little while longer. Right now, she just wanted to go to her own room and fall in bed before her shaky knees gave out on her.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	11. IIIIIIIIIII

The next day, true to his word, Michael was back in Section. Nikita was going to bring up the death of poor Frank, but the words died upon her lips when she saw him.

She never knew a man so full of contradictions. He was silent, but so many emotions were always racing in his green grey eyes. Today was a look of great turmoil. He looked just as tortured as she did. Half the time, she thought she almost spotted a goofy smile upon his face. Others, his eyes would cloud to look like he was in misery.

"What's wrong? Did your friend's surgery go bad?" Nikita asked, walking up to him.

He tilted his head in confusion. "What?"

"Your friend's surgery," she insisted.

"What are you talking about, Nikita? What surgery?"

She gulped, biting her lip. Had Madeline lied to her? How bad of a sign was that? Was her neck on the chopping block? Is that why they were keeping secrets from her? She pushed down the wave of tears that threatened to overflow.

"Nikita? Are you feeling alright today?"

No. She felt terrible. And so very confused. But she couldn't tell him what plagued her. What if he was in on her death? What if he was just humoring her? Playing along? Did he pity her that much?

She caught the sob that tried to escape just in time. "I'll be okay. I think I might be catching something."

"We aren't going to be doing anything strenuous today. You'll be able to take it easy."

Nothing strenuous? Everything here was strenuous! From drowning to nearly plowing in to trees, it was all enough to give her an ulcer - and she was still in her teen years! "What are we going to do?"

Michael looked at the list one last time, as if thinking over if there was anything easier to do. Knowing there wasn't, he put it back and looked at her. "You'll be learning how to do your own laundry. Easy enough."

She gave a half shrug. That didn't sound too bad. "Sure. What am I washing?"

He gave her a confused look. "Don't you have clothes to do?"

"Nope. They were cleaned out just this morning."

"Cleaned out?"

She nodded. "Housekeeping or whatever."

"The housekeeping we have here is not for laundry," he said with a tone that made sure she didn't want to know just yet what they were for.

"Well someone does my laundry every few days, so obviously..."

He waved it off. "It must be something new that they do since I was a recruit. I don't usually keep up with such updates. We have to find wash. You're sure you don't have anything?"

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth in thought. "Uh...well, besides a pair of underwear or two, unless you want me to strip down, there's no clothes to wash from me."

A small groan came from deep within his chest. "I have some I suppose would do."

She grinned. "Do you do your own here?"

"No. I do it...at my home. Usually. But lately it's been pretty hectic-"

"Why?"

He seemed to be very uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. "I've been busy training you. Speaking of which, I'll only be here for a few hours a day for the next two weeks, unless there's an emergency. So we'll have to speed things up while I'm here." She noted that he was steering on to another subject. "Stay here, I'll get clothes."

While he was gone, she tried to keep her curiosity from overflowing. Michael's personal life was being kept very private, especially from her. And though Walter wouldn't admit it, she had a feeling the old man had a good grasp on many of the secrets around here, including those of her mentor's.

Instead, she thought about doing laundry. Where were the machines? Did they really have laundry mats at a covert anti-terrorist organization? Should she suppress her giggles about such a thought? Of course, if you admit the tred mills, you can't keep out the washing machines for long.

The thought led right back to Michael. He said he did his wash at home. He had a house, away from Section. Do only recruits live here then? Would she get her own house one day?

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She was only nineteen. A teenager. Could she handle a house, with rent and locks? Would she have to pay rent? Did this job pay money, even though it was indentured work? What would she do with her apartment keys? She had a tendency to lose things so easily. Maybe Section could invent her some top of the line keys that you can't lose? She'd have to see Walter about inventing something.

Michael came back with a duffle bag in hand. Oh yes, laundry. She was learning how to do that today, not getting keys to anything. Not even a car. Apparently, Michael was frightened enough from the other day to tackle that again just yet.

"This way," he directed, passing by her. Like a puppy following her owner, she walked behind him, like usual. If only she knew where she was going, she could run ahead.

Instead, she eyed that duffle bag. What was in it? What kind of clothes? Here, she didn't allow her thoughts to wander free. She might get in trouble if Michael would happen to turn and see the silly smile her thoughts slapped on her face.

The recruit rooms were on Level Six, but the washing machines were much farther down. It was just a little room, with rows of machines for both washing and drying. Nothing special or out of the ordinary here, besides the idea of this room even existing in Section. If she ever were captured by a terrorist, would it be okay if she let it slip about this little secret? Maybe let them in on it so they could go around looking cleaner? Her impression of these baddies were that they must not shower or bath or wear clean clothes. After all, they're hard at work in planning the destruction of the world. Or was that just her impression after slipping in to just one too many movie theaters that were featuring super heroes?

She looked at Michael again. She never saw him in action, but with his efficiency for everything else, she bet he was really good. Maybe someone should tell the movie people about this guy right here.

Michael the super hero. No wonder she often felt so safe around him. Did super heroes do their own laundry?

The duffle bag was unzipped, it's contents being shaken out on to a table. Nikita noted that there was nothing particularly special about the collection of clothing. Michael had wisely taken out everything in his duffle besides work out tops, a sweater or two and a few wrinkled pants. Black, white and dark blue were the only main colors that decorated the items.

"First, you separate darks from lights." To emphesize, he took a white work out shirt and placed it apart from the rest, then put a pair of black pants in the opposite direction. "Only put in one, dark or light, at a time." Scooping up the darks, he let the pile drop in to a washing machine. Taking the lid of detergent off the top of the bottle, he measured the right amount, showing Nikita how to do it, then added that too. "Shut the lid, then put the dial on the right setting."

She peered over, her shoulder accidently brushing against his arm. Her cheeks flushed red instantly. The two were always careful not to make contact with each other unless sparring. Outside of the gym, it seemed forbidden. Wrong.

Michael side stepped a foot or two without a word, then pointed to the dial again. "Delicates, regular, heavy duty. With the type of clothing you wear when off duty, you'll probably use delicate a lot. But for mission clothes or for a gi suit, put it on regular. Pull out the dial, double check everything is in and working right, then you're done."

Nikita opened the lid an inch and peered in at the swishing motions occurring inside. The one she had at home was broken for years, so she always had her nice next door neighbor do it for her. "How long does this take?"

"About an hour. In the meantime, have you done all your homework?"

Her frown deepened. "I hate that stuff. What does it even mean now? I live in the same place I go to school. It's all the same."

Michael allowed a corner of his mouth to turn up in dry humor. "Do you need help, Nikita?"

She grinned brightly. "Would you help? Math is really dragging me down," she replied gratefully, then took off for her room to go get her supplies while Michael tagged along at a slower pace.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The light colored clothing was left for the next day, homework taking longer than originally planned. But Michael was late that next day and Nikita happened to be bored. Taking a few pieces of her own clothing and the duffle bag, she headed down to the place she had before. The washer and the dryer made peaceful, rhythmic sounds while on, so she put a load in as Michael had taught her, then sat on one of the tables. She was on her specially good behavior - she was attempting to read a Shakespeare book that needed to be finished in a few days for Literature.

In here, by herself with peaceful noise, she felt calm. If she was really truthful with herself, she knew she wasn't just waiting out time until another class. She was here because she was hiding. Hiding from her fears, embodied in the three recruit friends that she had left.

She didn't want to die. She certainly didn't want to be this person that Section was trying to mold her in to being, but that didn't mean she had a death wish.

She was scared. Enough that she had managed to work out for two hours in the middle of the night and still couldn't find her way to sleep.

"I don't want to die," she whispered, taking a deep breath so the tears that blurred her vison of the book wouldn't overflow. The peace was starting to betray her. She didn't mind this life just yet. True, she hadn't started the job yet. She knew she wouldn't like what she'd become after she did start. But at least right now, she wanted to live. If not just a little longer. She wasn't old enough to die.

She sniffled and wished she had a tissue nearby. The thoughts that plagued her nightmares last night were recycled and coming back again. Her sleepless state had made her eyes rimmed with dark and the insides pink instead of white. She was tired, her emotions grinding away at her sanity.

The washing machine soon made a tedious beeping noise that, according to Michael, did not mean it was going to blow up, but that it had finished it's cycle. She pushed off the table and walked over, opening the lid.

What she saw made those tears she had held back minutes ago to flood down her face. Allowing a sob to break free, she took the sopping clothing in to her arms and laid them on to the table, under a bright light.

But she hadn't been wrong, for once. And now she felt like she wanted to melt in to the cracks in the floor. She tried to gulp down the rising emotion, but it stuck there, a thick knot of dread and horror in her throat.

She hadn't looked carefully enough while doing the wash. She had been tired and upset and didn't check well. And now Michael's white work out shirts were no longer white, but a bright pinkish.

She had used her favorite pair of pants yesterday to work out and she had really wanted them for today, so she stuck them in with Michael's light load. They were, after all, only a light grey and certainly, it qualified. What she hadn't noticed was her wisp of scarlet underwear hiding in the leg still. And now that pretty, feminine color had bled on to Michael's manly muscle shirts.

She was really going to get it this time. She was dead. Michael may not have cared about the tattoo - that was her body. But he'd care about this. His shirts, his possessions, ruined.

Holding up a vibrant pink shirt, she let out a whimper.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooO

"Do you know where Nikita is?" Michael asked, stepping in to Munitions. When he had found her room empty and the gyms deserted, he'd gone to see Madeline, only to be informed that the lesson was long over. Her classes were early in the morning and later in the afternoon - she certainly wasn't in any of those when she didn't have to be. But he'd spotted Nikita hanging around here more than a few times, chumming it up with the munitions keeper. It was a long shot, but he was starting to get desperate to find his material.

"Hey Michael," Walter greeted in his surprise. The two hadn't talked other than a few grunts now and then for a long time. "Yeah, I think she said she was heading down to the washing machines. Said something about light laundry?"

Michael's sigh of relief was audible. "Thanks," He replied before turning his back and going in the direction of the little laundry mat quite a few floors below his feet.

But when he reached there, he was in for a shock. Tucked in a ball in the corner was a shaking form, full of sobs and sniffles, clearly very worked up and very clearly Nikita. Her hair acted as a shield around her, her face buried in her knees behind it. In her lap were damp clothing.

Pink clothing.

...His clothing.

It took a few seconds more than it should have for this level five operative to fully grasp the concept, but he got it quick enough.

"Nikita?" He said, making sure to keep his voice soft. She didn't look up. Instead, her breath hitched and a cry, louder than the others, sounded at hearing his voice.

He crouched down in front of her, but she pulled away from his closeness. She was really, truly upset. In a way like he had never seen her. Not even when she was first recruited. Or when she found out she was dead to everyone.

Not even when she saw that her mother had been missing from her own daughter's funeral.

Something had went terribly wrong while he was away and now she was scared out of her mind. His heart went out to her.

"Nikita, calm down. Tell me what happened."

She tried to drag in a breath, but instead wheezed heavily. She looked up at him through puffy, red eyes. With one very shaky hand, she held up one of his stained work out shirts for him to see. "I'm so sorry," she exclaimed through her mess of self. "Please don't cancel me! Please!"

She let the weight of her aching head to drag it down to her knees again, her face now buried in the pink material.

He understood what had happened. What he didn't was why she was acting so upset. Any other time, she would have laughed at this. Or she might have even tried to make his shirts this color. Her normal troublemaker self would have been more than delighted. What went wrong?

"Stop crying. The shirts are fine. I have plenty more," he assured. "Would you stop crying now?"

She shook her head. "How can I stop? If no one else is going to mourn my death, I might as well do it for them!"

Who had she talked to while he was gone? The idea of cancellation seemed to be firmly implanted in her mind, and that it would happen to her. By him? She wasn't showing any signs of calming down. Abandoning the idea, he gently started to take out all the clothing that was soaking her own. She let him, without a care. After placing them all in a heap on the table, he grasped her arm and helped her to stand. Her hands seemed to be glued to her reddened, wet face.

He didn't have a lot of time to deal with this. He was tired and weary from his home life to add to his impatience. But he forced the thoughts away. His material was obviously very upset - wasn't it part of his duty to cure it?

Actually, the more he thought about it, he wasn't sure if Section did enforce the rule of caring for a material's emotional needs. But he dismissed that, too. He did many other things differently than other mentors, he'd chalk this one up to that excuse.

Wrapping an arm lightly around her shoulders, he led her to her room. Thankfully, there was a mission that was being prepared for egress, making idle operatives scarce. Without seeing much of anyone along the way, they reached the room, where Nikita flopped herself on the bed. Did she not notice her shirt and pants were soaked? Or was she beyond that?

Michael shut the door and deactivated the cameras and bugs in the room in a quick, fluent motion. "Nikita, I want to hear exactly why you're so afraid of being cancelled all of a sudden. I've been telling you about it for weeks and you kept rebelling. This is a simple mistake."

After watching a few failed attempts at speaking on her part, Michael grabbed the cup she kept on her night stand and filled it with water in the bathroom, then brought it back to her. She gulped it down noisily, little dribble streams racing down her chin and neck.

"Frank," was all she was able to get out before she needed more water. "Frank was cancelled. He's dead," She cried out. "He was killed - just like that!"

Oh yes, Michael had heard rumors of a recruit that had been cancelled because of a mysterious tattoo that he hadn't had when he came in. He presumed this was the Frank that she spoke of. "That's how it works around here," he replied. She may be upset, but he wasn't much for sugar coating the truth. Maybe this would settle her wild spirit. At least temporarily.

"Frank got A's in class. He did everything right. The only thing he ever did wrong was that one tattoo! And here I am...I do...I do everything wrong! I'm the worst operative there's ever been, I'm sure! And now I dyed your shirts pink - you don't wear pink!" Yet another sob ripped from her chest as she grabbed her pillow and placed it between her face and raised knees.

Well, she was right on at least one point there. He didn't wear pink. And she wasn't the most cooperative recruit. "I haven't told Operations about any of those things you've done. It's between you and me."

"I know, but now you hate me. I hurt you and I make you upset and I'm difficult and I ruin your clothing - there's no reason why you should keep me alive and I know that now!"

He raised his eyes towards the ceiling. She was actually giving him a list of reasons why he _should_ cancel her now? She wasn't the easiest to please, was she?

"I don't hate you. I'm not going to cancel you. We already took care of the tattoo. No one has to know you were apart of that. It's been between you and me. It'll stay that way."

She looked at him, wiping under her nose with the back of her hand. Clearly, nothing Madeline was teaching her was going in to that thick head of hers. "I don't understand, Michael," she sniffled, tilting her head slightly, looking perplexed. "Why are you doing all this? You're Section's favorite operative. You don't have to deal with the likes of me. But you are, instead of just finishing me the easy way. Why? I've given you no reasons why you should."

In all truth, Michael didn't know the answer to that either. Why _was_ he keeping her on? She sure was enough trouble. He supposed that perhaps, the recent events at home were making his heart a little softer. More patient. Or perhaps he saw her as a refreshing new spin on this strict society he lived in. Maybe it was for purely selfish reasons. He hadn't been on any missions since taking her on. He's been getting more downtime. It's been easier for him lately. Was that why? Or maybe the truth could be found in a completely different direction?

"Take a rest, Nikita. You haven't been sleeping well lately." Calling the kettle black - his own eyes had dark rings beneath them.

She nodded, putting her pillow back and laying down. Where was her blanket? She looked around, but didn't see it.

Walking to the closet, Michael found it placed on the top shelf, all folded up. So maybe Section had installed a new type of housekeeping here? It made sense, he supposed. After all, when did busy recruits have time to do their laundry? And obviously, if today proved anything, they shouldn't be allowed near washing machines, even if they did have the time.

Unraveling it, he motioned for Nikita to lay back down, then quickly placed the blanket on top of her. Feeling awkward at such an action, he took his debugging devices off the wall and left without another word.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooO


	12. IIIIIIIIIIII

_A/N_: **Ann,** your unique way of reviewing never fails to give me more ideas and inspiration. Keep asking those questions - they'll be answered!

**cavanaugh-girl** - Glad you liked the pink - I was really really hoping it wouldn't be too cliche. More pink continues:

Nikita started to feel much better by the next day. She was still shaky and scared, but Michael's words had been soothing to her aching heart.

Looking in the mirror, she groaned to herself. Her eyes had taken quite a toll from her crying spree and it was still showing this morning. But that didn't matter now. Michael would be waiting for her in the gym, and not very happy if she was late.

Gathering her hair in her hands, she slipped a hair band in it to make a tight, haphazard bun. Then she shoved her legs in to her gi bottoms, then robed on her top. Jamming her feet in her normal, well worn shoes, she took off for the gym. After what Michael had done for her yesterday, she was trying to go easy on him today. He looked like he was going through a lot in his personal life lately to add to his troubles.

When she showed up, she was in for a surprise. Standing in the middle of the gym was Michael, dressed in a pink shirt. She couldn't help it, the tears welled in her eyes to see her mistake being shown in public. Or, more public than the laundry mat. "Why are you wearing that?" she asked with a tremor in her voice.

He shrugged. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

"It's pink," she exclaimed, as if he was color blind. Though, seeing the man like that, she was starting to wonder if he was.

"It's not the end of the world. It's a clean shirt. I don't see anything wrong with it, do you?"

Her eyes shifted back and forth. Was this a trick question? She was about to go in length about telling him how he never wears pink and how it was just plain awkward to see him in it, but stopped just in time. Why give him more information to tally on to a 'reasons to cancel my material' list that she was sure he kept somewhere?

Thankfully, she soon found that she wasn't the only sane one around here. Walter, as it so seemed, noticed the pink wearing Michael and looked like he might die from shock.

"Tell me again where Michael's mind went?" he asked, not able to take his eyes off of the man of topic as he walked across the room in front of them.

Nikita smiled, leaning on the munitions counter. "I don't know, Walter. I think he's under a lot of stress right now. Perhaps he just truly doesn't care about what color he wears?"

But Walter shook his head. "Never. I remember one time about two or three years ago. There was a flash mission in egress, but Michael had just wasted his last shirt. He was only going to be on Comm, so another recruit offered him this bright yellow shirt. He wouldn't do it. He flat out told Operations that he wouldn't perform a deadly mission in a bright, sunny yellow shirt."

Nikita looked a bit loss and it took a moment before Walter caught on. "Flash mission means when there isn't a briefing...when Operations gives you the information on a mission. You just take these panels here," He lifted one up from a nearby bin, "and while you're in the mission van, you read up on your case. Egress is the preparation of leaving. It's when you get dressed, get your gear and meet up with your team so you can load in the van. An uh...you know those little speaker things that fit in your ear?" He looked around, then found what he was searching for and handed it to Nikita. "If you're the voice on the other side of that, it means you're on Comm. That's what Birkoff does a lot of the time."

Nikita nodded as if all of what he just said actually made sense to her. "So he stood up to Operations. Obviously he's still here...what happened?"

Walter grinned. "He got lucky that he was coming in to favor with Oversight and Operations, that's what. Because he didn't wear that shirt. Instead, he was replaced and given two hours downtime to catch up on his laundry - and severely warned not to let it happen again."

"Has it?"

He shook his head. "Not once. If an operative runs out of clothes, he accepts anything thrown at him, no matter what color. And Michael hasn't run out of clothing since. Though that might be because he has some help in that department now, rather than the warning..."

Nikita tilted her head in curiosity, hoping that this time, Walter would slip and let her see a small glimpse of her mentor's private life. No luck. Walter caught himself just in time then looked back at his work. He always seemed to be working on something new and interesting, but she never was sure she really wanted to know quite what it was.

"So how are you holding up?" he asked, changing subjects after a few minutes of silence.

"Alright. I'm doing better, I suppose."

"I thought so. Michael seems to be going pretty easy on you these days, huh? You sure are making a difference in that man. He's turning in to a shadow of his former self. And you've only been here for a few weeks."

Now he had to tell her a bit more after saying something like that! "What do you mean? How was he before?"

"A ghost. The phantom operative. He always just appeared at egress time, but no one ever saw him when there wasn't a mission going on. You never seen him come in or out of this place. He never talked, no one talked to him. He was stern and feared and no one ever went near him because of it. And now...well, yesterday Michael came to me and asked me where you were. Those were the first words he spoke to me in well over a full year's time, with the exception of a few exchanged grunts now and then when he picked up his gear. If he hadn't had that certain desperate look in his eye, I was going to ask him who he was - he sure was a stranger around these parts."

"Was there once a time he talked to you regularly?" Nikita questioned, delighted to hear the short tales of before she came.

"Yes, in fact. I mean, he was never quite the chatter box or full of cheer like you are Sugar, but he came to me when he was bored. Or needed advice. Sometimes at the end of a long day of training, he'd be too weary to make it down to his room. Jurgen sure did beat the hell out of him and worked him harder than I've ever seen any recruit treated. So I'd let him sleep up here. Enough so that I actually kept a blanket and pillow in the back for when he'd come wobbling over here, fit to pass out. Then I'd wake him up a few minutes early so he wouldn't be caught here."

"So who was this Jurgen guy?"

"His trainer. A decent enough guy. Switched to Special Operations now, so he rarely ever trains anymore. A good thing too. Like I said, he's decent alright, but he's more than brutal when he's training you. He tends to aim towards breaking every part of your will before he builds you up. I suppose it's not a bad way by Section terms, but it's hell to the trainee."

Nikita was just about to open her mouth for more questions to spill out, but Walter held up his hand. "No, I've said plenty now. I'm sure it's time for you to hit the books. But remember, any time you have the urge to sleep up here in munitions, I'd be more than glad to roll out the ol' blanket and pillow. I'll even keep you company if you need the extra warmth. It gets mighty cold up here at night." There was nothing subtle about his wink, but the innocent hope in his eyes made her laugh outright.

"You're really something else, Walter." She said, placing a kiss on his cheek. "I'll be back tomorrow to see what else I can get out of you."

"Mmm. I'd like nothing better." He replied, then reluctantly turned back to the work at hand.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Four weeks until evaluation. Precisely one full month.

Michael was back to being at Section full time and Nikita's fears of cancellation were starting to fade again. Or at least, calm down until the next inner explosion.

Nikita had practiced on washing, drying, folding and putting away wash. She seemed to have managed to master it well enough, but not before Walter asked if she'd like to do his dirty laundry. Thankfully, she didn't have to go near the geek clothing. She'd rather be cancelled than that. The whole thing only proved that she needed more clothes and more opportunities to wear them. Well, she couldn't work on the latter, but she could definitely work on the gaining more clothes part.

Searching through the racks of clothing and pushing the hangers from left to right, Nikita surveyed each item of clothing in her oblivious abandon. She had a feeling that Madeline's stare and occasional calling out was trying to get her attention, but she was too far gone. Clothes! And lots of them! She had stayed away too long.

"Nikita, would you please come over here for a moment? You can get to the clothing in a moment. I'd like to talk to you now."

Her tone was pleasant and sweet, but that didn't mean Nikita could miss the harsh undertone that told her she better get her bottom over there. Grabbing ahold of a darling little scarlet sweater, she put it on and buttoned it up to her throat while slowly walking over. Talks with Madeline never went easy. The whole thing was all one sided and quite creepy, really. She probed the recruit's mind until she went uneasy and was scared what to say - the truth, or lies to make Madeline happy. Michael may be fine with covering for his material, but there were no ground rules regarding Madeline.

But just as Madeline was going to begin, the doors opened, revealing Michael. "I'm sorry to cut the lesson short, but could I have her? We're running late today and I'd like to help her with a test she has in a few hours."

Apparently it was just an excuse, even Nikita could see that. Michael never talked so much any other time he wanted to whisk her away. He'd just demand it with that certain look in his eye and that was the end of it.

Madeline smiled, putting the end of her pen to the corner of her mouth. "Actually Michael, I'd like to talk to you as well. I thought we could work on teaching Nikita to dance. As a matter of fact, I have an opening right now to do it. You teach her, I'll advise. I think it would be a great idea to at least start her on that."

Michael seemed to go visibly cold in his eyes. It was obviously a suggestion he wasn't all that fond of.

"I think another time would be better. As I said, we're running behind and Nikita has a test to study for."

Madeline seemed put off by Michael's resistance, but she wasn't silenced. "Tomorrow then." This time, it wasn't a question. Dancing lessons were tomorrow.

Why, after watching such an exchange, did Nikita have such a bad feeling about this lesson?

"I'd like Nikita to come an hour early. I think it's time we had a little...heart to heart."

That bad feeling just intensified. A heart to heart? What was that - some girl talk? From Madeline? Definitely not good.

OooooooooooooooooooO

Nikita stopped walking in shock as she felt a hand cup her elbow. Swinging around, she saw it was Michael. How long had he been trailing her? She hadn't been aware of it.

"I...just wanted to say a few things before you head in there," he said, gesturing with a nod towards Madeline's big doors. "Be careful what you say. Madeline likes to come off as having just curious interest in your affairs, but it goes deeper. Everything she says is a double edged sword. Don't put faith in her and don't let her in on anything you've done wrong."

"Michael, why? Who is she, really?"

His mouth was set in a grim line. Apparently, he's been through many of these little 'chats' before with the woman of question. "She's the mastermind for Operations. Anything she knows, so does he. If you wish for a quick cancellation, you tell her anything that I've been keeping out of those reports. Before night, you and I would both be cancelled."

"You? Why you? I thought it was only me."

"Omitting information is the same as lying and just as serious of an offence. If they found out I've been keeping certain...troubles from the weekly reports, there would be hell to pay for both of us."

Nikita tried to keep a neutral look upon her face, but it was hard. So, Michael had been watching his own tail after all. He had to lie for a while so that it wouldn't seem he was failing. But now he had to make sure she didn't get in to trouble, simply because she might be desperate enough to leak his trespasses that would get him in trouble.

So maybe he wasn't such a friend as she thought. Maybe he didn't care at all. Well, that's fine. Why should she care about that? He's just her mentor. Her teacher. Her boss. 'Friend' was never in that description. She had been silly just to assume that it was.

Nikita nodded, trying to remember whatever it was he was just saying. Sure, she'd be careful. And yes, she'd cover their backs. No cancellation tonight, not for them. She got it, alright.

"I have to go in," she replied stiffly, then walked away from her safe haven and in to the lion's den.

"Nikita, right on time." Madeline seemed surprised at the punctuality. Well, where else would she be? Obviously not with Michael. No, Michael was too busy with his own worries.

Sitting down on the indicated chair, only a few feet from Madeline, Nikita felt vastly uncomfortable. She had never had a face to face talking to before. She'd never spent more than a brief few minutes this close to the woman. And the feeling that this little chat would go on for a while was quite clear.

"So...what are we supposed to talk about?" The silence was heavy, making the situation more squirm worthy for the recruit.

"Anything you want. You decide."

Well, that was a shock. Nikita certainly wasn't expecting to steer the conversation. Shrugging, she replied, "I really have nothing to say."

"No? Nothing? I find that unusual. You are a new person, being put here by force and being transformed in to someone new. You have nothing to say against or for that?"

Nikita looked away. Certainly, she wasn't happy about the situation. And she wasn't very happy about Michael's attitude before she came in here, but she also wasn't stupid. Those words had clung to her mind for a reason - because she knew Michael was right and that she should listen to him. Don't tell her too much, danger looms ahead.

"I don't care for what I've been put through very much, no. But, as I've been informed many times, there's nothing I can do about that and there's no way of changing it. So why talk of my woes about it? There's nothing you can do either."

"I can make it more comfortable if you'd tell me what you need," Madeline said patiently.

"I need...I need..." If it was a few weeks ago, Nikita would be spewing out ideas like nail polish, clothing and more shades of lipsticks. But now, none of that came forth.

What did she want? Did she even know any more?

"I want to live," was all she could reply. For surely, if there was a list of wanted things hanging somewhere in her room, that would be at the top.

"That's a good thing. A strong will to live is often what gets recruits by in to operatives. If you want to live bad enough, nothing can stand in your way."

"Not even Operations?" Nikita dared to press.

Madeline's smile was nothing more than patient, if not slightly impressed at the quick wit. "Operations won't do anything to harm you if you have that will to live. Because if you have it, you won't step out of his orders. You'll stay within boundaries. You won't cross the lines or push his generosity. In all honesty, Nikita, he doesn't have as much patience as some do. And he doesn't have much generosity to spare."

"Yes, I gathered that impression already."

"I'm sure you did. Wise girl. I'm sure that has been improved by Michael's words of warning." It wasn't a question, but it was clear that Nikita was supposed to say something to add to the statement.

"Michael has been a good teacher to me. He's harsh, but he's understanding. He lets me know clearly what's right and what's wrong."

"Then why is it that you still struggle against him? Why don't you just obey his orders, and all the rest of your teachers, for that matter?"

Nikita squirmed in her seat. How much did she know? How much did Michael tell her? Obviously not the big stuff, but what about the small things?

"Why is that you can speak to me without a fight and not to any of them?" Madeline pushed the subject.

Nikita did a half shrug. Why? Because Madeline was Operations's right hand man...er, woman. Mastermind. She was scarier in her calm, pleasant facade than all her other teachers combined. "I don't really know what you mean. What are you trying to get at?" Nikita was just too tired to play these mind games.

"How about you tell me about your life before you came in to Section?"

"But you already know about all that. You have it in your computers. You know more than I can recall from memory. Why do you need to waste our time discussing what you already know?"

"We know simple, cold facts. Just words on paper, dates and facts in long lists. There's nothing personal about them. There's no emotion. I don't know what, of those occasions, effected you and how. But I'd like to know. Why don't you start off by telling me about your mother?"

Nikita suddenly had the feeling that she should be lying down on a sofa for this. Really, was this a therapist session or was she still in Section? Section, who didn't care about emotions or feelings. Where the only thing that ever mattered were simple, cold facts. What was this about? When it was all chalked up, this was only useful to the psyche file. Well, if she wanted to know so badly, she'd get it. There was nothing to hide about her life before. "My mother was an alcoholic. And a drug addict. She was never around but she never had a job. Not for as long as I can remember. She lived off of whatever man she could leech herself on to that week. We lived on the streets or in drug houses when she was unsuccessful in gaining a man. I never really knew her. I mean, she was around enough, I suppose. But she was always out of her mind with the help of being drunk or high."

Madeline nodded. "I know all that. But how did that make you feel? How did that effect the way you grew up, emotionally and mentally?"

The tortured recruit shrugged innocently. This was the last thing she had expected to be talking about today. "It taught me to not rely on anyone, only myself. I took care of me. What Birkoff calls me is what I was. Maybe what I still am. I was a street rat. I'd steal my own food when I had to, I'd bum off of someone for a place to stay."

"Why did you do that? Didn't your mother provide that for you? You did just say she relied on men-"

"The men meant that only she was safe. I'd often leave the current house for days at a time. I kept a backpack under my bed, stuffed of clothes and anything else I could find. I'd take that and climb out the window whenever I needed to."

"Why'd you need to?"

Nikita sighed, blowing her bangs in the air, just to rest haphazardly back upon her forehead. "Because the men my mother picked were bad. They were always drunk. Mean drunk. And if they weren't abusers, they were worse. Once I saw how dangerous they were, I'd cut town."

"Why didn't you stay gone if you knew they were all the same?" Madeline asked, as if she was genuinely interested.

"Because I always had a secret hope that my mom would land a good guy. Or at least, a decent guy. That, and I'd come home every few days to make sure she was still okay. Or at least, alive. I don't think she was okay for a single day in my life."

"How old were you when you started running?"

Nikita bit the cuticle of her forefinger. "About eight? Maybe less."

"So all your life, you were shown how horrible men could be. They were showcased right in front of you. Did that make you fear all men? I'm sure the boys you were running to when you were away from your home weren't much better. Did you ever trust any?"

The conversation was suddenly starting to reach a point that Nikita could see. She'd have to tread carefully here, but she knew lying would be fruitless. "Did I fear the men she brought home and the bad guys on the street? Yeah, of course. I was never happy to see them, that's for sure. And no, I never trusted them. There was no one of trustworthy factors. Like I said, I trusted myself. I relied on myself. I had nothing to do with any guys. I saw how they were towards my mother and decided that I didn't need any of that for myself."

"Do you still think that? Do you still think men are untrustworthy and to be feared? And do you think you'd be interested in men at your age now?"

In a nutshell, she was asking about how Nikita perceived her surrounding environment around her, including all the men.

"I think I'm living a completely different life now. This life and the last have nothing to do with each other. Perhaps I don't trust men right off the bat, but I don't do that for women either. I think some men still need to be feared, but only if they give me a reason. And interested in men right now? No, not now. There's too many things happening to me. It's a struggle just to stay alive in this place. Not to mention, there's no men in here for me anyway. None that I found so far, at least. Are we nearly finished with this?"

Madeline tapped her finger tips along her desk, deep in thought. "Yes, I suppose that will do for now. I believe we'll cancel today's dancing lessons. Could you tell Michael I'd like to see him right away?"

Actually, Nikita would rather not. What would she talk to Michael about? Obviously, she hadn't had a talk with him in mind before Nikita arrived here, so did it have to do with her? What she had just said?

With a weary nod, Nikita stood, then quickly ran over to the racks and snatched a slinky little black shirt before walking urgently out the door.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Nikita swung in to Michael's office. He didn't look startled or surprised to see her in the least.

"Yes?"

"Madeline wants to see you in her office right away. The dancing lessons were cancelled."

Michael seemed to inwardly wince. "So I assumed."

Suddenly worried, Nikita shut the door behind her as she walked close. She waited as Michael quickly typed in a series of numbers in to the pad, then looked up at her, waiting. "Is that a bad thing? Why does she want to talk to you? She didn't before."

Michael gestured for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Since her legs were shaky, she agreed to do just that, while he stood up and started to pace, his hands folded behind his back. "What did you talk about?"

"Nothing involving Section, really. Just personal stuff. From when I was a child and lived on the streets. She wanted to hear about my mother and her boyfriends. Silly things like that. Why?"

Michael nodded, seeming none too pleased. "I believe I know what she's doing. You get ready for your next classes or take to the gym. Hopefully, I won't be too long."

He waited until she walked out the door before heading the opposite way as her. To face the fate he already knew was written in stone.

He had assumed this was going to happen for a while now. Well, now it was time to face the music and not dance.

OoooooooooO


	13. IIIIIIIIIIIII

As the doors opened, Madeline made sure to take in every detail. Michael's ashen face, his mouth line grim. His body posture was stiff and straight. He seemed none too pleased to be here.

"Sit down, Michael," she welcomed.

But he didn't. Instead, he stood in front of her, his eyes cold. He was waiting.

"From my talk with Nikita, I gathered perhaps the root of many of her problems we've been experiencing. She doesn't trust men, nor does she respect them. Now, in Section, I suppose you can say that's quite a bit of a problem. After all, the leader of Section is male. So is her mentor. And so far, there's not a single woman that's a team leader."

Michael nodded. "I know all this already. What am I here to learn?"

"Well, it's quite simple. We need to show her that you, along with the rest of the men here, are, for the most part, trustworthy."

"You expect her to view them as not a threat, but a friend? They are threats. To her, they are. If they don't like her, they can recommend her cancellation. They're her foes. And she can never fully trust anyone here. Section is made up of murderers and thieves-"

"And bombing terrorists," Madeline interrupted pointedly.

"Precisely. You can't expect her to see them any different from the men that she was used to being abused from."

"Perhaps not, but she's going to have to if she wishes to stay here. She can't stay rebellious and untrusting. If she's on a mission, she must trust her teammates and whoever is leading her on Comm. She needs to have faith in her fellow peers - regardless of gender. If she doesn't, she'll cause too much damage. She'll be more work to keep alive than to get rid of. Unless you'd like to see her cancelled Michael, what I'm proposing is that we correct this problem."

He didn't want to ask it. He really didn't. In fact, he's been dreading this moment. He knew, from the moment he laid eyes on his material's attractive face, that this was coming. "What do you propose I do?" he asked, his voice a little mocking. He certainly wasn't happy about this latest development.

"She needs faith and trust. I think the only way to give that to her in a quick way, meaning within the four weeks until evaluation, is to practice some of your Valentine skills on her."

Michael's face was as cold and stiff as stone. This was the part where he shouldn't mind Valentine Oping his material. That was the easy part. But he knew what Madeline was after. Show Nikita how to do the trade, let her catch on, eventually she can become a Valentine Op too. After all, what was left for her to do if she couldn't catch on to the shooting and the fighting? She'd become nothing more than Section's whore. He closed his eyes. He knew, from personal experience, how horrible of a person that title turns you in to. He didn't care who it was, no one should have to go through that. _No one_ should have to go through what he did. But especially not Nikita. He couldn't imagine her innocent, doe eyed face even learning the trade, let alone carrying it out.

It was time for serious planning. He had to accept the fate of having to romance his sweet, childlike material. He could pull that off if he had to, which it was obvious he did. But he'd have to make Nikita, somehow, a damn good killing machine. If she was good enough, they won't put her in to an alternate job. At least not at first. He'd save her for as long as he could - after that, it would be up to her.

"I can't be her strict mentor and her suitor at the same time." He said simply. Could he get out of this the easy way? He doubted it, but it was worth a try.

"No? Well, that's fine. I'll just get someone else to do it to her. Perhaps they can train her too?"

Michael grimaced. Nothing would be worse for her than to have another operative to Valentine and train her. She'd be dead or wishing she was before second evaluation. "Fine," he said solemnly, standing up. "I'll see what I can do."

He started to walk away when she called him back. "Michael, you should know that this is very important if you want to see her training through. I know what Operations would think if he saw her as she is now. She's too flawed. Help her cure her faults or she'll die with them." The two held each other's hard, icy gaze between them for a moment. It was a power play and Michael was losing quickly.

"That is all," Madeline dismissed with a chilled tone. "And by the way, I'd like to reschedule that dance lesson. I'd say, tonight at nine? Nikita looks quite booked until then."

"Fine." He had lost. That was okay. They'd be fine. He just had to make sure he didn't fail Nikita when the time was most important.

OooooooooooooooooooooO

He watched as she picked through the glamour racks. Moving hangers that held fancy dancing dresses. Nikita seemed enthralled by the innocent magic they held in her eyes. It was almost a thing of beauty to watch as she picked out her choice. She never failed to showcase her childlike interior. It was endearing, but something he had to make sure Madeline or Operations never knew about.

As if she felt his gaze upon her, she looked over and gave him a courteous smile. "Am I taking too long? It's just, I've never seen these racks before," She apologized, trying to conceal her delight.

He shook his head, trying to hide his own little smile that her appearance was applying on his lips. "No, it's fine," he told her, though it most likely wasn't. Madeline was in her office, looking as if she was awaiting her pupils anxiously.

Michael knew, but he wasn't in a rush either. He knew what Madeline would be looking for tonight. For him to start turning on the charm with Nikita. False charm to deceive her. Yes, that should really get her to trust mankind - by deceiving her with his every word. Section was like a well oiled machine, filled with brilliance, power and skill, but sometimes he wondered about their choices. Couldn't they find something better to teach her trust with? Like befriending her? Surely she had no problems with her friend Walter, even with his common dirty jokes, hints and suggestive pats and touches. He was nice to her, he gave her words of encouragement, all while being her teacher of guns and equipment. She had a good relationship with him. And if Michael was honest enough to humble himself, he'd have to admit that he was a little jealous of what Walter had with the recruit. It was more, or at least better, than what he had with his material. And Walter hadn't needed any Valentine skills or false pretenses to gain her friendship and trust.

Did Nikita trust him yet? He wasn't sure.

Turning his attention back to the woman in question, he saw that she was eyeing up a dark green, silky dress. It was a good choice, she'd look wonderful in it.

"What do you think?"

Michael was taken aback. Was she actually asking his opinion on a dress for her? He tried to answer without stumbling. "It...it will do."

He watched her face fall. She had really wanted him to say something nice, he knew. He had even meant to - but it seemed that his mind was so set on downplaying every action and word when it came to her. How would he be a convincing love interest if this is how everything came out?

"It would look good on you," he tried again.

A twitch of a smile appeared, showing that this answer was closer to what she had in mind.

"Thank you," she replied, then took her prized dress and ran in the back to get changed.

Which left Michael in an awkward situation. Should he wait here until she was finished changing? If so, Madeline would be expecting a grand entrance of sorts. But the only other alternative was to go in the office now and face the stern woman and surely, her discreet words of a reminder to him. He couldn't bear listening to it again. The words were already etched on his soul.

He'd risk the entrance and stay here. It was the least of two evils. This way, she wouldn't be able to give him some last instructions about what to do while in session. So he'd hold Nikita's hand as they walked in - it wouldn't be the end of the world.

When Nikita came out though, Michael was in for a surprise. He knew her for little over two months, but he'd never seen her in a dress, certainly none like this. She was awing. Michael was torn between keeping his comments inside and embellishing them in his new role.

"You look...great." Okay, so maybe not too much embellishment. It was his first day - he didn't have to lay it on so thickly. It was a gradual process. Yes, that's what he'd go with if asked.

He offered his arm and she took it with a smile. As they walked in, Nikita's new stilettos clicked on the hard, smooth floor. To Nikita, that clicking sounded like music.

Entering Madeline's front office, she looked up with pleasure. "You're late, but I suppose because Nikita looks so stunning, the wait was worth it? Don't you think she looks stunning, Michael?"

Fury for the impossible woman flamed in his chest, but he held it back. "Indeed."

Nikita's cheeks grew warm. "Thank you," she spoke, looking towards the floor, or perhaps her shoes.

"Shall we start then? Good." Madeline walked over to them, appraising their heights with her judging eyes. "First, you join hands on your right side." To help guide them, as if they couldn't do such a simple chore, she led their wrists, then made sure Michael's fingers were clasped around Nikita's. "Michael's hand goes right here." Taking his other wrist, she put the palm of his hand right on the curve of Nikita's hip. Usually, his hand went higher, on the waist. Not tonight.

"And then, Nikita, your hand goes right here, on his shoulder." Nikita's guided hand slid in to the crook between his shoulder and his neck. It didn't go there. That's not where it belonged. It should be in the middle of his shoulder and nothing more intimate than that. Not tonight.

"Now, Michael will lead you in the music. You follow that lead. Like this."

The music went on, and Madeline stayed behind Nikita, helping the recruit to move properly.

So, she didn't trust Michael enough to seduce his material gradually. She was working on doing it herself. Nikita's hips shouldn't be swaying like so. Her chin didn't have to be lifted so that she looked only in to his eyes. _They didn't have to stand this close._The thoughts caused Michael to stiffen in his slow agony of knowledge, but he didn't let it distract him. He didn't miss a beat, even though Nikita's heeled feet kept jabbing in to his poor toes.

Eventually, her uncomfortable state started to ease and she became ignorantly okay with what Madeline was making them do. Madeline was the queen of subtlety, and this lesson was full of example.

Michael let it go on until he saw it was ten o'clock. "It's time Nikita got to bed. She has two tests early tomorrow and a sparring session after that," he said pointedly.

Madeline nodded. "You're right, Michael. Nikita's looking a bit tired and flushed." She didn't, really. Nikita look bright eyed and full of enjoyment, which Michael was sure Madeline was thoroughly enjoying. "Why don't you escort her back to her room? Make sure she gets her weary feet to where they belong. Nikita, you can keep the dress until our next session.

Another setup? How many more would she throw at them so quickly? Why must she urge Michael so much? He knew his responsibility. He'd perform it in due time. But nothing could be worse than being forced in to it time and again.

He offered his arm to Nikita again, and she took it. She was even more delighted now that she could keep the dress a little longer.

When they got out in to the halls, Michael made the excuse that he had to tie his shoe. It released him from their arms entwined. He wouldn't walk around Section to showcase the new plan to everyone. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready to do that.

Once in her room, Nikita kept chattering through her bathroom as she changed in to her night clothes. She only agreed to change after Michael insisted that the material would crease and wrinkle if she insisted on sleeping in it.

Finished, she bounded out of the bathroom with a slip of shiny green on her arm, wearing a light pink long sleeved shirt and a pair of grey sweat pants. Her bare feet felt better after feeling the chill of the floor. Quickly hanging up the dress, she literally jumped in to bed. Tired? Not by a long shot.

He waited until she tucked herself in to the fluffy blankets and laid her head on the pillows. Why was he still here? What was he supposed to do? "Are you settled in now?"

Her bright eyes flashed to him. "Yup."

He nodded. "Good. Then...goodnight." He flicked off her light and left the room, a whisper of a good night from Nikita trailing him.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	14. IIIIIIIIIIIIII

How did he find himself in this position again so soon? With Nikita's arms looped around his neck, her blue eyes peering up at him.

Surely there must be something more important? Teaching his material more sparring technics. Or going out on some emergency mission? There must be some terrorist in the great big world planning an evil destruction that only he can stop?

He never used to feel guilty. While he was married to Simone, he never felt guilt on Elena's part. Perhaps that was because that was his time to rebel against all Section was making him go through and Elena fell in to that category? But now Simone was gone, Elena was left. Nikita still entwined with him.

This flood of guilt was a new experience. Why? Because while he was here with his material, Elena was going on her third morning without sleep? Because she was taking over all the duties of caring for his new son that she bore him? Because he knows, though she'd never tell, that she's been so lonely lately?

Elena didn't have many friends. Hardly any, really. She loved being a wife. Taking care of the house. Waiting for him to come home. Lovingly putting in so much effort in meal time to pride herself when her husband sat down to eat it. She loved doing little crafts to brighten their home and make it feel more cozy. Perhaps because she secretly hoped that if Michael didn't want to leave the house, he wouldn't.

She really was the perfect wife. But he was far from an equal husband. Or father. He had sired a child, but he was never around to care for him. One day, if Michael hadn't abandoned him by then, little Adam would start to try looking up to his father. Not long after that, Adam would find out that there was nothing to look up to.

Because his father wasn't ever around to care for him. Because he'd think that his father didn't care for him; love him.

At that point, Adam couldn't be more wrong. Because Michael really did love his son so much. More than anything. He was first in Michael's mind when he woke up. Last when he went to sleep. Well, except lately. Now he usually finds himself worrying over Nikita until the early hours of morning, until he passed out.

"Where are you?" Nikita whispered so that Madeline, seated comfortably at her desk to watch the 'show', wouldn't hear.

"Right here. With you." He couldn't get more honest than that.

"And your thoughts?"

He swallowed. He could never tell her where his silent thoughts tend to tread. There was so much she'd never be allowed to know.

"What are you thinking about?" he countered.

Nikita noted that he skipped her question, but let it slide. Obviously, he was in no mood to share his private life with her.

"I'm trying to understand how someone can do this gracefully. I mean, how do you avoid someone's feet when you stand so close?"

Michael breathed in relief. At least Madeline couldn't say anything against letting a foot or so between them. "You look tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Is there such thing as enough sleep in this place? With all the energy required?"

Michael doubted it. Especially since he didn't get any sleep at night. If there wasn't a loud, shrill crying going on, there was his thoughts nagging him.

He looked over at Madeline, seeing that she was still watching them. "I think we're done here for today."

Nikita grinned at him with appreciation. "Thank you!" she whispered, then kicked off her high heels. They were pretty to look at and walk around in for short distances, but dancing in circles for an hour made her feet ache terribly.

In bare feet, she let go of Michael and headed to the room in the back where her clothes were, unzipping her dress as she ran.

OooooooooooooooooooooooO

"I feel stupid," Nikita said. She would have crossed her arms to add to her frown, but she was afraid that would upset the delicate balance that was already giving off a dangerous wobble.

"You look confident. And confidence is very important," Madeline replied wisely from her position by the door. She was standing perfectly straight, a pen tapping at the corner of her mouth.

"How many more circles must I complete before I can take this book off my head and study what's inside of it? I mean, don't get me wrong or nothing-"

"Anything. Not nothing."

Nikita rolled her eyes. "Or anything, I hate studying, but really, where is this going to get me?"

"It's going to get you everywhere. Posture is very important. Would you respect someone who slouched in their chairs like children?"

She shrugged. Most of her friends did just that. Hell, she did just that! "Why not? There's nothing wrong with relaxing or feeling tired, is there?"

"When you are in important company, it's very wrong. In fact, it's downright rude. It shows that not only do you not want their respect, you don't respect them enough to mind your manners."

"I thought manners were just pleases and thank you's and letting men open doors for you?" There sure were a lot of rules to remember around here. Why did everything have to be so new?

"No, far from it. Manners is how you act around company - what you say, how you look, how you react. Anywhere from how you sip your soup to how you sit in a chair properly in manners.

Nikita let out a low groan. "And what's so important about people respecting me, anyway? I'm only dealing with terrorists. We're supposed to kill them - not lure them in to dating me."

Madeline's mouth opened to say something, but seemingly changed her mind quickly. "Perhaps not. But many times we have to get in through their traps and walls. To do that, we have to trick them in to believing we are one of them. Or why we should be apart of them. In nearly every case, a terrorist community will not just take anyone from off the streets. If the street ways is all you know, you won't be very believable."

"...So I have to balance a book on my head," the confused recruit said slowly.

"Yes."

Nikita went to nod, but the book slid off, hitting her bare toe. She let out a sharp cry of pain, then hopped around on one foot to display her hurt.

"Are you finished?" Madeline's crisp words stopped the young girl in mid-jump.

"Well...I suppose."

"Then let's place the book back on your head and finish. You haven't been able to balance it for more than," she checked her wristwatch again, "one and a half minutes. That's less than pleasing, to say the least."

With a groan, Nikita walked back over and swiped the book from the floor, plopping it hard back on her head. "It's bumpy up there. It's not my fault the book keeps slipping. And it's a big, heavy book. Can't I use a lighter one?"

Madeline's straight, unwavering and unsympathetic look was enough to give Nikita the answer she needed. With a sigh, she started to walk again, wondering if there was an easier way to do this. Could she cheat? How badly would it hurt to rip out thick slabs of tape from her hair? And would that be too obvious if Madeline caught her after the lesson?

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Michael paced back and forth. His lesson with Nikita had been cancelled, via Madeline. For another lesson about manners or something.

It was supposed to be just another change in his schedule. "Oh and by the way Michael, I'll need Nikita longer today. I'd like to teach her as much as possible in the few remaining weeks we have left. You wouldn't oppose to that, would you?"

He hadn't a choice. A question is not really a question around here, but an order. Yet, even if he didn't have the power to change Madeline's longer lessons, he was no fool. It didn't mean he wasn't aware of what she was doing.

Nikita needed more practice in sparring and shooting. She couldn't get enough practice if he had her in the gym and gallery all day and night long without rest or sleep. But Madeline was cancelling those lessons now to make way for manners. For dress up. For _dance_.

Unless he put a stop to this right now, he'd find his material being taken away from him and turned in to a Valentine Op. Section didn't have many women specializing in that area and Nikita was too much of a beauty for someone as wise as Madeline to pass up the opportunity.

Section was only as ruthless as it's leaders. And Section didn't care if you were innocent or didn't value the idea of having your soul torn to shreds, as long as the means were getting accomplished. Michael knew this. Understood the concept well. Eventually, he'd have to teach it to Nikita. But that didn't mean he'd let her witness the brutality up front. Not in that way. Section had many ways of torturing it's workers - without the added physical slavery it was trying to induce upon his new recruit.

In what was left of his idealism, Michael knew he'd like to maintain as much of Nikita's innocent and integrity for as long as possible. One day, she'd know all the horrors and truths of Section One and then she'd start to transform in to an operative just like every other. Hopeless, depressed, angered, lifeless. He wanted more for her. He just didn't know why he cared either way yet. Last year at this time, he would have allowed Madeline to take her from his hands and turn her in to the best and most used Valentine Op Section ever had - and he still would have had a peaceful night's sleep afterwards. But now, things were different. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he had started to change. But when? And how? It had crept upon him so suddenly that Michael didn't really know what to think of it. He didn't even know if he liked this better or worse. It was safer not to care about anyone or anything. But it sure was lonely.

Michael swung in to the gym and picked up a pair of five pound weights and another set of ten pound ones. Grabbing leg weights that he put on his shoulders and a jump rope, he headed for Nikita's room. Obviously, having a dojo, gym, sparring sessions, sensei and personal trainer wasn't enough for her. Well, if it wasn't, he'd just have to find ways to create more opportunities for her to work out and build muscle and skill. Practice made perfect. And constant practice made a recruit in to an operative.

OooooooooooooooooO


	15. IIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"I need to work on Nikita and there's a lot I want to cover. I'd like to request taking over your hour today?" Michael asked with a friendly, innocent smile on his lips.

Madeline tapped her fingertips on the desk . "If it's important, of course," she replied, holding back her viciousness. She was no fool - she knew what Michael was doing just as clearly as he knew what she was. They both knew - from now on, it would be an uphill battle of wills and power play for Nikita.

The sought after trainee was standing in her room, a little dazed. "What's all this for?" she asked, pointing to the newly installed equipment that had suddenly taken residence in her room.

"When you wake up, I want you to exercise for an hour. If you have to get up earlier, you will. One hour, before leaving this room. After your classes, you go to the dojo. I'll join you when you finish and we'll take it to the gym. I'll help you train. Right now, building your body strength is the most important thing. Listen to your sensei - nothing will suit you better than to pack muscle and learn how to spar at the same time. With less than three weeks left, we have to start cramming."

Cramming sounded painful. Dangerous even. Nikita's muscles started to ache at just the thought. Her stomach tried to revolt by threatening to heave. Her head grew dizzy. Cramming? Ouch.

"Does all this have to stay in here though?" she wondered, not letting her body show how nervous she was. "Does Section have to fill everything? Even my bedroom?"

"Even your bedroom. Just until your body is in good enough shape to take it down a notch. At least for right now, this equipment is going to be the key to saving your life."

Nikita sighed, looking in to her mentor's green grey eyes. "I'm so freaked out, Michael. It's in less than two weeks away and I'm not ready. I know I'm not. I don't want to die!"

Michael swallowed, then reached a hand out to rub her arm in comfort. She jumped at the unexpected touch - he never touched her. It did anything but calm her heart rate down. "You'll be fine. The first evaluation isn't hard to pass. It's expected that you won't be very good yet. Hardly anyone gets cancelled this soon - only if the mentor is looking for an easy way out."

Her shiny blue eyes looked up at him in sincere worry. "Is my mentor looking for an easy way out?"

"What do you think, Nikita?"

She had a bit of an odd look on her face, but a smile finally broke through. He prayed she wouldn't start asking those ridiculous questions like, why would he want to keep her on instead of going the easy way? He hated when women asked questions that didn't have an answer which could satisfy them. And then they ask more questions and they expect you to talk...

"Okay then." She replied, heading out the door. "So, gym today?"

Michael breathed in relief. "Sure."

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Her whole body was throbbing with pain. Michael had beaten her body all around the gym for twice the length as a normal day and she was feeling it hard now. She wished her bed was softer. Instead, she just laid like a board on top of it. No cushion her aches, no.

But at least she was laying down. They were going to go further when Michael noticed her start to wobble on her feet. She had tried to hide it - disappointing Michael meant disappointing herself.

Yet when he had noticed, he forwent the longer lesson and sent her to bed. She hadn't even been forced to study her test. Instead, he had gone to her teacher and postponed it a day. Apparently, that was against the rules - for anyone but Michael. Everyone just did what he demanded, whether it was against the regulations or not. For her, that came in great handy.

Just as her body was starting to calm down, she felt a presence in the room. Everything was perfectly still and quiet, but it felt like she was far from alone. She quickly thrashed about, trying to see the whole room at once. There was nothing to see but darkness, yet the feeling remained. Counting it as just a product of her overly active mind going sluggish, she settled back in to her spot and focused on relaxing her body again.

The feeling, that strange little nagging feeling, wouldn't go away. In fact, it grew stronger. Her skin pricked, a chill ran down her spine. But this was Section - if she wasn't safe locked away in the sixth level of a covert anti-terrorist organization, then where was she safe? Convinced that it was nothing and she was just being silly, she let her heavy eyelids close in hopes of peaceful slumber.

Drifting off to sleep was the closest feeling to heaven that she would get in this place.

And then it happened. A gloved hand closed over her mouth, an arm slid under her and seized her body up from the bed.

Panic filled her whole being, blocking the skills that were supposed to be dwelling in her veins. She kicked and hit, but her movements were sluggish from fright. She tried to scream but it got her no where. What to do?

Section was supposed to be safe. That's what she had always thought - if nothing else, at least she was safe. When she had been living on the streets, she could never say that about herself. She was never safe. She could never let her guard down - not that it helped, she'd do the same as she was now. Kicking and screaming and being taken anyway.

Where was Michael? Her protector? The one that defined her safety? Where was he while this was happening?

She didn't want to die. She had said it to her mentor over and over. She had worked so hard, all to avoid that fate.

Was in all in vain? Had she spent all her effort and time on nothing? Well, it was too late now. It was all over. This was it. She was going to die. Operations must have found out how worthless she was and decided to off her early. She wouldn't even get her chance at the evaluation. It was a pity really, and since no one else was here to do it for her, she pitied herself in her loss.

Suddenly, the dragging stopped. She was juggled in the arms of her captor in order for him to open a door. She was taken inside, hearing the door lock.

The room was dark as pitch, but her captor seemed to know where everything was. Though she couldn't see it previously, she was pushed down on to something soft. Her arm hit something metal - was she in a chair? Did it matter? Honestly, she was surprised she hadn't fainted by now.

"Well, that was less than satisfactory on any level."

She stopped her squirming. Nikita knew that voice. Yes, she knew it well.

"Michael?" She exclaimed loudly. Here she was, preparing to die, and Michael was just playing a little late night game with her before heading to bed? "Why did you do this?"

Her emotions raged from relief to confusion to anger and more confusion.

The light switched on. After a moment of adjustment, her surroundings came in to focus - including Michael, standing before her, taking off a leather glove that had been on the hand around her mouth.

"I was hoping to see that your skills were paying off, at least somewhat. But I see you've yet to start catching on."

"You dragged me from my bed in the middle of the night! And my body hurts! What could you possible expect?"

"Do you think the terrorists will just call you up and ask for a time that would be most convenient for you to end your life for the information they need? Do you think they care if you have a little hurt in your muscles? Honestly Nikita, I like that you've been living here as peaceful as possible and you're not too unhappy. But you have to start seeing the big picture now. You have to start seeing what your life is going to become. You need to prepare. You need all the time you can get to train. And you need to start putting your survival skills to the test. If that's the way you fight for your life, you won't last as long as it took me to drag you here."

Nikita crossed her arms with a pout. She didn't like disappointing Michael. In fact, she hated it. It meant she failed - and there was little worse a feeling than that. "I have been working hard," she protested in a whisper, heavy with held back sob.

"I know you have. But you need to put more of yourself in to it. You need to open your eyes. The transition is a hard one, I know. And it takes time and patience. It's frightening. I went through it to, remember, once a time. Now it's your turn. I'll help guide you to help make it easier, but you need to apply yourself."

"And how do I do that?"

"You have to conquer your fears. You need to learn how to calm yourself down in even the most dangerous and life threatening situations. You need to be able to recall your skills and apply them to your attacker - which was my hope that you'd do." To emphasize his hope, he pulled off a soft vest from under his shirt that protected anything her elbows could have caught in to.

"Well...can we do it again? I'll do better this time, I promise."

Michael's near smile was one of sleepiness and patience. He sure had a lot of the latter lately. Nikita wondered if his tolerance would last throughout her whole training period or if she'd eventually wear it down thin.

"You need sleep. I'll try to cancel your morning classes."

His words were uplifting, but Nikita waited for the other shoe to drop. "...Why?"

"You know why. Training." And lots of it.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"I kept her up all night. She's in no condition to be in class yet."

Madeline walked around Michael, who stood completely still, his eyes holding secret hope. Hope, that perhaps she'll have mercy on his recruit today. Or rather, hope that she wouldn't have so much time with Nikita to turn her in to a Valentine Op.

"That was your fault, not mine. I won't have my schedule of lessons suffer because you are irresponsible with your trainee. Tell her I'd like to see her within the next half hour."

Michael closed his eyes, his hopes dashed. Turning to leave, he tried to wrack his mind for a solution or excuse that would save Nikita from coming at least today, when Madeline called him back.

"And Michael? If she isn't here in that time, I'll report it to Operations - on account of both of you. I'd recommend to not let that happen, if you know what's good for her."

Michael had to bite his tongue to not reply. What's good for her did not include whoring for Section. He'd have to become wiser to save her from such a destiny. Obviously, his previous attempts just weren't good enough.

Reluctantly, he opened Nikita's door. She was still fast asleep. Peaceful looking. Calm and relaxed. Not for long.

After struggling for a moment, he reached for her and shook her shoulder gently. "Wake up, Nikita."

Her eyes fluttered in confusion until they finally landed on him. "Why?"

"I wasn't able to cancel Madeline's class with you. She's requested your presence immediately. Get dressed and hurry over. Bring your school books with you - once your finished with her, I'll take you through everything you missed in today's school classes." He checked his watch. "After, we'll see if we can get in to the shooting gallery yet tonight."

Her bloodshot eyes were unfocused and staring at him as if not a single word he said registered in his mind. In fact, she looked like he was speaking a foreign language to her. "I'm so tired." She groaned, struggling to sit up, only to fall back in to a laying position again.

Michael reached out and took her hands, helping to pull her up to her feet. He succeeded, but she was wobbly. "I know you're not feeling well, but it's important that you get to Madeline's today and do well. It's quite important to your well being. Try to wake up, get dressed. If you hurry, I'll get you a cup of coffee for you to drink on your way there."

Nikita's head shot up to look at him in surprise. Recruits weren't allowed to have caffeine during their training years - their bodies were supposed to learn how to function well on their own, not with the help of an aide. She had only tasted coffee a few times - a couple while living on the streets, and once while she lived at her mother's house. All except the latter, which was ice cold and two days old when she tried it, had tasted like heaven in her stomach. It warmed her up in the cold and buzzed energy through her body. Coffee was something she couldn't wait to taste again.

With the promise of the soothing drink in the process of being carried out, she slipped out of her night clothes and pulled on any clothing she could find. It took her another try to look like she wasn't color blind, but she finally made it. Shoving her feet in to her shoes, she hurried outside of her room to wait in the hallway.

Michael didn't disappoint. He soon rounded the corner to the hallway where she was impatiently waiting, a coffee cup in his hand.

He stopped a few feet away from her, examining how well of a job she had done getting ready. A twitch of his mouth told her that she could have done better, but it was passable. Handing over the mug, he went in to her room and grabbed the school books she had forgotten about. While he did that, Nikita started to gulp down the dark drink. It was hot and burned the roof of her mouth on the way down, but she didn't care.

"Mmm," she moaned with pleasure, just as Michael came back out to exchange what they had in their hands.

"Don't forget these this time. Get to the office - and rush. Madeline's in no mood to be waiting around for you today."

She nodded, but her eyes remained on the coffee cup that was now in her mentor's hands. She wanted more. She wanted to hold it upside down over her mouth so that the last few drops weren't wasted. But Michael was acting very serious and had been generous already. She couldn't abuse that or, as she knew it to be, it would stop.

With a nod that she had heard at least some of what he said, she started to run down the hall and up the many stairs she had to take, the coffee immediately going to work and stirring up her blood.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"No Nikita, grasp the handle. Not like that, lightly. Gentle. It's not a canteen, it's a delicate tea cup."

Nikita did her best to not send daggers Madeline's way with her eyes. These feminine and manners lessons used to be fun. But dress up had been put away. So had the makeup. Now it was just grueling and seemingly pointless. What did it matter if she held her tea cup with her pinkie sticking out or plastered along the edge? This morning, she had grabbed the coffee mug with two hands, whipped her head back and chugged - Michael hadn't thought the least of it. But Madeline was picky about every little detail. It bothered Nikita to no end, but Michael had seemed to want her to be on her best behavior today, so she did try.

Some of the tea splashed over the edge when she tried to reposition her hands around the dainty little thing. Madeline sighed, picking up the kettle and pouring more liquid inside of the shallow cup. It made it more difficult to handle, but Nikita didn't care that much. After all, it wasn't her pristine white tablecloth she was making large brown stains in.

Just when she was about to attempt taking another sip, the double doors opened to reveal a welcomed sight - Michael.

"It's time for her next lesson," he said simply, looking at Nikita and then to her books in hinting.

Madeline checked her watch to make sure Michael was correct. "Is there a few minutes to spare? I'm not quite finished here."

Though Nikita was about to cry out in anguish at the idea, Michael stood firm. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that will work. Her schedule today is tight. It's really not in my hands."

The two looked at each other for a moment, the air thick and icy. While they had yet another staring match, Nikita tiptoed over to her stack of books and gathered them in her arms, then quickly ran towards the doors, squeezing by Michael in her hurry. If Madeline couldn't see her, perhaps she couldn't call her back for more torture.

After a moment or two, she found Michael following her. "Did you have a good session today?"

She just groaned. "I'm not sure what is worse anymore - school work, mean senseis and scary gyms, or those stupid...mannerism lessons!"

His eyebrow perked in interest, but no words proceeded after. Instead, they walked in silence until they reached his office.

"Why are we here?"

"This is where we'll study today. It's quiet here and we won't be disturbed."

According to the comments Nikita had heard from her recruit friends, what Michael just said was quite a fact. No one came around here anymore. They all left Michael alone. And seeing that they really never were disturbed and no one ever stopped Michael to talk to him, Nikita was forced to believe that the rumors were true. If only she could find out why.

After dropping her books on the desk with a thud, Nikita plopped unceremoniously in to a chair opposite of Michael's. "You wouldn't happen to have any more of that coffee, would you?" she asked, her voice thick with hope and lust for the drink.

Something that nearly resembled a smile appeared at the corner of his lips, but he remained silent, sorting through the stack of books until he pulled out the french one.

Another groan came from the student. "Must we do foreign languages?"

He gave a little shrug. "It's easy enough."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, I suppose French would be an easy subject - for a french man."

With a barely audible sigh, Michael put away the book and picked up another one. "Geography better?"

His answer came with a look of worry and a vicious shake of his material's head. "No!"

But he opened the book anyway. "We have to start somewhere, might as well be from the hardest."

He looked at a piece of paper that had chapters to read recorded on it from her teachers. Turning to the assigned chapter, he handed her the book. "Start reading, tell me when you're done."

He produced a small stack of papers with questions littered on it. She gulped back another groan. They'd be here for hours. Maybe she should have stuck with the tea with Madeline.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

This time, when Nikita crossed the doorway of Michael's office, her brain felt like mush and weary, but the rest of her body, which aided her in her quick fleeing of the room, was restless.

She led the way, racing through Section, to Munitions. Once she got there, she jumped up on one of Walter's counters, a big smile plastered on her face.

"Hey Walter!" She greeted as he put away his tools.

"Is Michael coming today, Sugar?" he questioned after patting her knee with a wink.

"He's not very fond of races. He refuses to run," she pouted.

"But you're just a bundle of energy today, aren't you? Well, that's just more time for me and you to be together. Should I pull down the gate?" The little rays of hope in his eyes made her laugh outright.

"Yes, in fact. We should be in the gallery for a while. They won't need this opened unless there's an emergency."

The words hadn't come from Nikita, but Michael, who had finally caught up. Walter rolled his eyes and backed away from the recruit. No more hinting and flirting for him - not with Michael around.

"Alright, lets go," he said reluctantly, then closed down his shop, Michael leading the way to the shooting gallery as Walter picked up their equipment on the way.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"What's that for?" Nikita asked, staring at the little black device in Michael's hand.

"That's going to go in your ear. You'll be able to hear Michael while you're shooting this way."

Her head tilted in confusion. "Aren't you both going to be right beside me?" So far, her lessons had been few, but Walter was always at least close by.

"Michael wants to view your skills. You can see better on the balcony up there," Walter replied, sliding a pair of orange sunglasses on her face.

She turned towards Michael then, who attached the little earphone in her ear, then put hearing safety equipment over top of it.

"Am I going to be all alone down here then?" Her voice quivered slightly. She didn't like holding guns. Liked them less when she was actually shooting them. But she really didn't like the idea of being alone with the dangerous things.

"We'll be right there. And you'll be able to hear me," Michael assured, speaking in to something small in his hand. She heard his voice directly in her ear. Even if it was just his voice, that old sense of familiar relief filled her. She didn't feel alone anymore.

Still, that didn't mean she wanted to hold the big gun that Walter was reaching out for her.

"The quicker you do this, the quicker you'll be done. This is it for lessons - you can go to sleep for a full night after you finish here," Michael encouraged.

"No tricks tonight?"

He shook his head. "None. Just a peaceful sleep is all that's scheduled until morning."

Though she was practically jumping up and down five minutes ago, the thrill of being free from school work was fading again. Her eyes were getting itchy and heavy, her body growing sluggish.

Throwing her shoulders back, she grabbed hold of the gun and marched her way to one of the open stalls and waited for the targets to start appearing.

"Ready?" Michael's voice came through in her ear.

She turned and nodded, then prepared her stance for shooting.

Walter flipped the switch, the targets popping up and down for her to shoot.

Michael stared wordlessly, assessing her shooting skills. On too many she was hesitant, but she did shoot all the right people. Except when a mean looking, but innocent man popped up. She blasted him with as many holes that she could get in to him.

Walter leaned over to Michael. "She says that she imagines that's what Operations looks like. I've had to have him repaired quite a few times now."

Michael restrained an eye roll. "Nikita," he said in a warning voice.

Her gunfire ceased and she went back to doing everything not perfectly, but the best she could do.

Though her fire usually hit the target, it barely ever reached the vital places it should be. In all, Michael knew that if the real Operations saw her progress, he'd be less than pleased at the results.

"I'd like to double these classes. Four nights a week, I'd like her to be here. Instead of one hour, give her two. More, if she can handle it."

"She's not very fond of shooting. She'll sometimes have her fun, but she dreads this," Walter replied before looking over at the mentor, who looked very stern suddenly.

"If Operations learns of that, it would endanger her life expectancy. I'd rather keep it a secret until those new lessons pay off, wouldn't you?" he said the words through clench jaw, making the elder feel on edge.

"Of course."

Michael held up the little speaker in his hand that connected to Nikita's ear piece. "Alright Nikita, you're finished. Hand in your equipment, then get to bed." Tossing the speaker to Walter, he turned sharply and walked away, not waiting to escort his material to her room. Her scores of late were still proving to be hurting and stifled. He had a long night of planning and reconstructing ahead of him to make those facts change in to ones that will save her life.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	16. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Nikita paced back and forth, biting the cuticle of her thumb until it was ready to bleed. She hadn't been able to eat her breakfast, her stomach threatening to heave at the very thought of food. She had been given leave of her classes today and tomorrow. Her nerves wouldn't have been able to allow her to pay attention. Michael had been in and out to try calming her down, but even he failed sometimes.

She tried to hold back her tears, but it only made her eyes bloodshot and scary looking. In truth, she was scared. Really scared. Scared and nervous.

Tomorrow was her first evaluation. Her first chance to give the leaders here a reason to kill her. To end her life. Death, murder.

Like Frank.

Cancellation here was a reality - would it be a reality for her? Would all of this be gone tomorrow for her?

Section wasn't much of a life. It wasn't much to get nostalgic about either. But a life here was a life nevertheless. She still valued her heartbeat.

Things here hadn't gotten that bad yet. She was still able to live with herself, she hadn't done anything morally wrong so far. She had a few friends that she liked being around. Every day brought Michael to her door to make her do something different and new. Her life had never been easy going - really, this wasn't that much of an adjustment. Sure, it would be when she got in to the later sections of her training, but right now, her existence here was quite nice.

Nice enough to not want it to end.

A knock on her door. She was shaking too much to clutch the knob or to call out a welcome. Luckily, she didn't need to - if Michael wanted in, he came in. Unlocking the door with his key, he swung it open and got a good look at his pitiful material, who'd been reduced to nothing but a sack of jumpy nerves today.

"I received your score reports for the first quarter," he told her solemnly, holding a panel in his hands.

Nikita turned to him with worried eyes. Was that good or bad?

"The first half caused your ultimate grade to sink considerably, but the last half helped to raise it out of the failing zone."

The words fell flat. She still wasn't sure if that was a positive thing or not. Michael seemed to understand.

"It means that you're passing our courses. That's saying something." His voice was soft and caring. Gentle in a way he hadn't shown her before. Her pulse calmed from racing to almost normal just hearing him.

It was a shame he was in here, in Section. He would have made a good father. He took care of his responsibilities. He took time out of his day to help with homework and assist in studying for tests. He was hands on, making sure everything was done properly. He looked after his own, and he knew how to take care of them. He had a voice that could ease any child's fear of the dark in to an easy, peaceful sleep.

But instead of having that life he would be so fit for, he was here, in this alternate cruelty. Though at the moment, she couldn't say she was upset to have him with her. She would have been dead from fright by now if he wasn't.

"I suppose you're probably useless to me today, but perhaps a sparring lesson may loosen your bunched muscles. Would you like to try and practice today?"

He was asking her? He might be nice, but when it came to lessons, he never _asked_. It was do or...well, die. "Me and the sensei are on the outs, 'case you haven't heard," she said, trying to toughen up her trembling little voice.

"_Ni-ki-ta..." _He pronounced her name with in his gentle, warning tone while dragging out each syllable.

"I know, I'll make up with him on Monday. That is...if...," her lip immediately sucked in to her mouth as her top teeth reigned down upon it. She looked at him meaningfully.

His patience was always short lived, and it seemed he was starting to come to his end. He ran his fingers through the long strands of copper colored hair. He looked at her pointedly. "I've told you a dozen times now. You'll be here because you're going to pass this evaluation. I've practically made sure of it. There's nothing for you to work yourself up so much about. It'll be fine. You'll be fine. You just do what you know, what I taught you and all the other teachers, and you'll be passed."

"How can you sound so sure when I'm shaking like a leaf?" Not that she'd seen any leaves lately...

"Perhaps I'm more sure about your talents that I've witnessed you possess. Maybe you just refuse to see them?"

She thought about how her days went. At least half the day was always spent scraping herself up from the ground after stumbling - usually over her own two feet. Talents? If she had any, they were very, _very_ well hidden.

"Come, Nikita. I think a work out would do you good. Calm you down, make you feel better. It'll be just us today."

She was going to keep biting her lip until it bled from deep gashes if she stayed in here, so she finally nodded.

But when she got up, she stumbled on nothing in particular.

Special life saving talents, in deed.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The day came and went quicker than Nikita could have imagined, and soon it was traded in for the dawn of a new day. Of the day she'd been dreading ever since she first heard of it.

Michael could say whatever he wanted to try and reassure her - but she knew that he too was worried for her safety.

"I can't do this. I'm not going," she said immediately as the door swung open to reveal her mentor.

"If you don't go, you will fail the evaluation. Then you die."

She crossed her arms. "I don't care."

"Then you don't care about your life. Well, that's good then. No worries, right?"

She shot him an annoyed look that didn't quite succeed in hiding the terror in her crystal blue eyes.

He held out his hand in offering. "I'll walk you there. I'll give you more pointers to help you know what to say and do. I have a list of subjects they'll be testing you on. And Nikita...once it's over, it's over. You won't have to worry about this anymore."

She snorted. "Yeah right. There's another one in three months, remember? And, oh yes, there's another one in six months. And again in nine. Then in a year. A year and three months-"

"They're all just goal lines that you need to sail across."

"Don't look now, but I think my ship is sinking - and the life preservers are no where to be found."

"Your life preservers are the rest of your team of teachers and I. We're all here to help you through this. Now stop acting like a child and stand up."

Her arms crossed firmly over her chest, her expression pouty. She may not be a child, but she looked like one. A cute one at that. But he didn't have the time nor patience to deal with her spunky, rebellious behavior. Not today. Not when so much was riding on these next few hours.

"All you care about is yourself and you know it. You're not really concerned for my welfare. You'd just as soon see me cancelled if you knew it wouldn't be a reflection on you. You know that would be a mark against you - that you finally failed at something." She was scared, using the only tactic she had left to keep him off. He knew, so he didn't get angry at her for the sting in her words.

"You're stalling. Let's go."

"The man of steel emotions," she spat back, creeping higher on her bed. As if her collection of pillows would protect her from this. As if she could just go to sleep and forget about it all. Well, her dreams were about to become a nightmare if he didn't get her out of this room - and soon.

"That's right, Nikita. I don't care if you're scared or not. You'll be getting to that evaluation on time if I have to physically move you there."

The gleam of fear in her eyes let him know that she was aware he'd do it. She knew he was fully capable of dragging her through Section kicking and screaming. It was becoming obvious that he'd sooner do that than to let her stay in her comfort zone of fluffy blankets and pillows.

He held out his hand to her again. Whether it was in warning or as a peace offering, she wasn't sure. Slowly, she crawled down the bed, but sat back down at the edge, staring up in to his sincere eyes.

"I'm scared, Michael."

He nodded. "I know you are. It's almost over. By the time you reach that door, you're halfway there. The anticipation and worry over it is the first part of the battle. Once you step foot in that room, you're already over that middle hump. How about we cross that?" He consulted his watch. "And how about we do it...now."

There was no where to hide. She couldn't shrink away from Michael - his body seemed to take up most of her room. Or maybe it was just his big presence he always casts over her. Grabbing his firm, guiding hand with her own clammy one, he helped to lift her off the bed. Then out the door. Through the halls and up a series of stairs. When they reached the main level, she saw Walter walk out of Munitions and hurry over to her.

"Hey Sugar, just wanted to wish you good luck today. I made sure to put in plenty of good words to the Boss for you. You'll do fine." He looked over his shoulder towards Systems. "And though he won't admit it, Birkoff's rooting for you too. The two of you seem to entertain each other."

Michael pulled gently on her arm to remind her they needed to be going. _Say goodbye to your friends, Nikita. _Gosh, one moment he was a terrifying mentor, the next a father impatient for an office meeting. How would she ever figure out how to comfortably act towards him when he changed his position so much?

She smiled at Walter and wrapped one arm around him. "Thanks a lot, Walter." She spared a glance over towards Systems to see Birkoff looking her way. "Tell the adolescent geek that I appreciate his pleasure in my faults."

The elder man's lips twitched at the corners. "At least you're using your big words now."

Before she could come up with a snappy comeback in her temporary playful mood, Michael started to walk, taking her arm with him, tugging her out of the happy place Walter had momentarily created for her.

Just as they were about to round a corner, Michael abruptly stopped, then shoved a panel in her hands. Previous to this, she'd only seen one in the boxes, tucked away inside Munitions.

"What's this for?" she asked, bewildered. Was this part of the test?

"It's the list they gave me yesterday. Of all you need to know for today. Take a quick read over it. You know most of it. Others will still be shady for you. Just remember, don't get worried if you don't get everything correct. You're not expected to know everything yet. They just wanted to see where your boundaries are and what you need to work on. Keep calm, don't panic. Level your mind and stay focused."

Something that hadn't occurred to her before stuck inside her brain like a burr. "M-Michael...this is a written test, right? I mean, I just have to fill in little circles or something like that, right?"

His eyes narrowed in on her, but not from anger. He was calculating what he should tell her to not get her upset. She knew the look well enough by now.

"Oh God...don't tell me..."

His big hands cupped her shoulders to quiet her. "It's an oral test. Some is physical. It's okay, it's better that way. Remember, keep a clear mind, pay attention to what they're saying. You'll do fine. Just...whatever you do Nikita...don't let your mind wander. Nothing else matters right now but this." So he had clearly discovered her overactive imaginative, eager wandering mind set. Good for him. Not so much for her.

Sweeping her eyes down the long, intimidating list on the dark panel once more, she handed it back to Michael. "Are you coming in with me? Will you be there?"

To her great dismay, he shook his head. "No, I'm not allowed in the room with you. It'll let you focus more this way. I'll be right here waiting for you when you're done."

She licked her dry, chapped lips. "How long is it?"

He put on his best patience, encouraging smile. "You're stalling again, Nikita."

He'd seen through her already. He had quite the knack for that. Squaring her shoulders and looking straight ahead as she held her breath, she started to walk forward, towards the only door in this little hallway. Just as her palm was being pressed against the cold metal of the door knob, her mentor found one last thing to say.

"And Nikita? Just...don't forget to breath."

She let out her kept in breath and nodded. Something so simple, yet he needed to remind her, knowing how she had a tendency to hold her breath when she was nervous or trembling outside her 'happy place'. Basically, any time she was learning something new or put to the test. Or sparring with Michael, for that matter.

Her hand gripped the knob firmly. She breathed deeply. In, out. Once more she repeated the slow pattern, just as her sensei had taught her in one of their lessons. And then she twisted and pulled. The door opened. She walked inside.

To her surprise, she saw a man that she somehow knew wasn't Operations. He wasn't old enough to be, aging, more likely, in his forties. Was this a good or bad sign? She was willing to have anyone familiar be here - even Madeline would help. She needed someone to cling to, if not just visibly.

But she was alone. And the test for her life was beginning.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Michael had stopped pacing in the halls after an hour and a half ticked by on his watch. And, after two warnings from Operations that he might be a distraction if Nikita saw him through the little window, the blinds drawn so he couldn't see in.

He wanted to see. He wanted to see how his material was doing. He also very much wanted to see who was testing her. It was supposed to be Operations, or at least that's what he had been led to believe. He should have known that Operations wouldn't be bothered with three month recruits. Nevertheless, it hadn't stopped him from at least stopping by a few times to check how the mentor of the unique recruit was doing.

How was he doing? He shoved his hand through his hair, a habit of stress he was starting to get used to. He wasn't doing well, that was for sure. He was probably sweating from nerves more than Nikita was, and she was in the hot seat, not him. He felt hot and cold at the same time, almost like when he had a fever. Well, perhaps that's what he had. A fever, flamed from his deep worry. He was running on too little sleep lately and too much worry. He put everything he had in to Nikita's training. She needed so much more attention than most recruits did. He put so much of himself in to her that when he arrived home each night, he was so physically and mentally exhausted, that he was quite useless to his wife. She needed help too. The baby was very demanding, and also still nocturnal. Elena deserved his help too, but his priorities were scrambled in his mind. What was more important? The life of his material, or the sanity of his wife? He gritted his teeth, knowing he shouldn't have to make decisions like this. It wasn't fair to him, nor his wife. In a way, it wasn't fair to Nikita either. He often grew short tempered with her and took his frustrations out in their lessons. But what was he to do? As much as he'd like to believe, along with Section and Oversight, he wasn't Superman. He had his weaknesses and his moments of bewilderment. He couldn't juggle it all. The only blessing that had been bestowed upon him was that his missions had been called off. Had he gone on any, he'd be dead. And that certainly wasn't fair to any of the people in his life.

He had shed his jacket a while ago, but now his flesh was breaking out in goose bumps. Nikita had been in that room for over three hours now. His feet tired and his body wet with perspiration, he was exhausted out of his mind already. So how was she doing?

Despite her earlier words, the idea of her being cancelled did upset him. He wasn't sure why and he rather not go in to thinking about it, but he knew that whenever the idea presented itself, he pushed it out of the way with fear. The truth was, Nikita brought something out of him that he had thought was long dead. Dead, since the time he had entered Section. No, even before that.

He could feel himself giving Nikita something he hadn't given anyone inside these walls. Even with Elena. Even with Simone.

Nikita was the first. If only he could put his finger on exactly what he was putting out for her. Better yet, he'd rather not.

The walls, as usual here, were cold. Standing in just a dark grey muscle shirt now, he pressed his back against the wall and let his shoulders and arms cool down. His legs weary, he allowed his knees to give out, sending him slowly sinking to the floor.

He could only hope Nikita would be coming out soon.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Alright, Nikita. That concludes the test. You can leave now - I'm sure your mentor is waiting for you."

After four hours in hell, Nikita should have flown out of that little room in a mad dash. But the test had been very demanding on her in every way, so that now she felt like she needed to be air lifted from the chair she sat in.

Not wanting to say anything that could damage her scores, she shakily stood up, then hobbled over to the door, opening the heavy thing with the rest of the little strength she had left.

To her surprise and delight, she saw Michael in front of her. He looked either half asleep or bored out of his mind, but he was there, sitting on the floor in an organized heap.

"So, you're still alive after that torture," were his words as he struggled to stand up.

"I'm alive for now, yes."

"I'm sure you did fine. We'll find out before Monday what your scores are."

She looked dead on her feet, wobbling left and right. The test had taken a lot out of her, as he knew it would. Wrapping a secure arm around her shoulders, he led her slowly back to her room, taking the longer way to avoid familiar faces. Nikita didn't need to talk to anyone right now - she needed to recuperate.

"Now I understand why you beat the hell out of me in the gym. Because if you don't, they'll kill me with their experienced moves."

He offered a weary smile. "You were only showing off your moves - solo. No one was fighting you back."

"Yeah, but the way he barked out orders made me fight like hell."

He opened her door and led her inside. "Good, you should try that more sometime."

She grunted, falling from his supporting arm to her beckoning bed with it's fluffy blankets and welcoming pillows. She snuggled beneath the warmth and laid her head on the pillows, curling her body until she only used the top half of the bed. When she was tucked in comfortably, she moaned in the sweet pleasure this simple luxury brought her.

"Get some sleep. I'll wake you for dinner. If I hear good things about how you did, I'll bring you a coffee for a reward."

She fell asleep quickly, a smile spread across her face.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	17. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Nikita awoke the next day with a smile. It took her a while to get oriented, but yesterday's events soon started to slowly leak in to her mind.

Her first evaluation was behind her. It had been brutal on her spirit, but it was over. It didn't matter any more. Unless, of course, she didn't do well.

Michael had helped her to bed. Told her he'd wake her up for dinner, promising coffee. Apparently, she'd slept the day away and in to the night, only waking now, at seven in the morning. She thought she was late, but realized it was Sunday. Though there wasn't a single day of the week she was free from all lessons, Sundays always started later. She was right on schedule, for the first time in...perhaps since she arrived here.

As she sat up, she groaned and wished in lust that she hadn't missed that cup of coffee she needed now. Maybe, because she had skipped it, Michael would be waiting for her with a steaming mug in his hands.

Or maybe not. When she opened her door, Michael certainly was there. Pacing. Again. It took him a moment to notice her presence and when he did, he stopped in his tracks and straightened. But something was wrong, she could see it in his eyes and the crease lines in his face.

"Have you heard news? Do you know if I passed?" She flicked her gaze to his hands and wished a coffee mug to appear in them.

He shook his head. "I haven't heard anything about your scores."

"But you've heard something?" she pressed. There was definitely some piece of news that he was omitting.

He looked over at her, then glanced away. Walked up the hallway, then back. Looked at her again. "It doesn't mean anything. I doubt it's anything more than just my overactive imagination," he led in. Already, she didn't like the sound of it. "The person who tested you...he's a level four operative. Very good at what he does. But he's been holding a grudge over me for years. Blames me for purposely killing his best friend, which I am wrongly accused for."

She was no idiot. She knew what he was getting at. "You think he may try to exact the revenge by failing me?"

"There were cameras in the room. Operations and Madeline will be reviewing them. He can't lie, he can just...make a few bad comments. I don't think it will affect you."

Nikita resisted the urge to bit her thumb nail again and instead, put both her hands behind her back. Michael looked stressed. No matter what his words were saying, his whole body was telling her that he didn't like this situation at all.

Yet all at once, he seemed to snap out of his phase and put on an encouraging smile. "It'll be fine. Go get your breakfast, then hit your books. I'll come around noon to assist you to the gym." His voice had turned back to it's normal tone. He sounded the way he did every Sunday he greeted her. But she couldn't be fooled so easily. It was still beneath the facade he now wore. He was alarmed. And now, so was she.

Not feeling up to breakfast anymore, she turned and fell in to bed, adjusting the alarm clock to wake her in an hour.

OooooooooooooooO

Throughout the day, Nikita received well wishers and support. Anyone from her recruit friends to Walter came to offer a smile. Even Birkoff, when it was time for their lesson, gave her no fuss. Not even when she snatched up one of his oreo cookies.

It was nice, but all the attention pushed her more on edge. Why were they being so friendly? Did they know something she didn't? Suspected the inevitable? Was her time running out already?

The only one who didn't take it easy with her was Michael. After throwing her around in the gym, he picked up a lesson sheet that told of all the things she'd be learning in class the following week. He sat her in his office and gave her a head start, making her memorize full paragraphs in her fractured French to trying to figure out algebra equations that made her head spin. He didn't relent and kept going. They even skipped lunch, though she had heard a growl from his stomach, not to mention hers that she had foolishly deprived of breakfast.

Smiles and well wishes were all well enough, but what Michael did allowed her to survive the length of the long stretch of day. He occupied her mind, pushed out all the room she had for wallowing fear and crammed knowledge in to those places instead. He worked her hard enough that her mind wasn't able to wander once and not a single icy bolt of fear spread through her veins.

When it was time for sleep, she was out like a light by the time her head hit the pillow. It was a brutal day for her swelling-from-knowledge head, but it was perfect. Michael's precise plan, configured just for her at some point, worked out smoothly. How did he always know to make these plans of his? How did he always know how she was going to react to things? From the very beginning of today, before taking in her worried appearance or her sleepless bloodshot eyes, he had started working her. Because he had already calculated in what her response to the day would be.

And he actually cared a bit about it.

So maybe her accusations from yesterday weren't entirely true. Maybe he wasn't just profiting from this for himself. Maybe there was a part of him that was really, truly, doing this for her.

Yet she wouldn't allow herself to get wrapped up in the idea. Before it could warm her heart, she struck it down. Every time she'd hope for just that., so far he had made sure to prove her wrong. Within the span of three months, she was already sure Michael's feelings for her were shallow, at best. He cared for her because she was his reflection now. If she looked bad in any way, so would he. He was covering his tracks. Protecting himself.

It wasn't about her.

But it sorta felt like it was. At least for today, she could hold on to that.

Tomorrow she might not be holding on to anything, after all.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Nikita's eyelids fluttered open and closed like butterfly wings. Rapid, though unsure. For the first time since she came to accept this place as her home, she felt disoriented. Yes, this was her room. Everything was right. Something was different. Something kept tugging at the edges of her memory.

Today. Something special about today.

She heard breathing, other than her own.

Abandoning her memory issue that was trying to demand her attention, she turned her head slowly. Saw the breathing pattern match with a body. Michael's. He was sitting beside her, his head bent, his eyes closed. He was asleep in a chair beside her bed. Funny, he hadn't been in the room when she fell asleep.

His hands clenched a piece of paper in his hands. A strange sight indeed, for paper was rarely used outside of schooling purposes. He must have printed it off a computer.

How long has he been here for? Why?

The paper was her key. So, ignoring the cold floor under her tender bare feet, she crept over and looked over his shoulder, reading quickly.

And then screamed.

Michael immediately jolted awake, trying to stand up straight as if preparing for an onslaught, but his shoulder hit the corner of her desk and he wobbled, then fell over. He took her chair along with him on him journey to the floor.

Nikita clasped her hands over her mouth at the clatter. In hindsight, perhaps screaming in his ear wasn't the best of her choices. But really, he couldn't blame her.

Yet the steely, cold look he flashed her from the floor sure seemed like he could. In fact, it looked like he could rip up that paper and kill her now.

Instead of bothering with apologizes, she smiled. Big and wide, she hadn't smiled like this for a while. It took a few moments, but finally Michael offered her a small smile of congratulations.

"You did it, Nikita. Just like I promised you would." His voice was husky and a bit harsh from his sleeping, but the way her heart fluttered, those words were the kindest he'd said yet. She hadn't disappointed him. He had expected good things from her and he saw the results that proved he was right. That she could do good things.

She passed the evaluation. So better yet, not only was she capable of being better than a failure and her mentor believed in her, she was _alive_. That paper was her ticket to allow her pulse to keep up it's job for at least three more months. There was no guarantee for after those three months, but she'd deal with that when they came to it.

"Would you like to drink a cup of coffee with me or are you in a rush to spread the good news?" he asked her.

Well, she definitely was in a rush. But she could be persuaded to wait. Besides, from the looks of it, Michael had been up all night awaiting for the results. Perhaps he needed a little help getting to that coffee machine so he could chug half the pot or so.

She offered her hand with a brilliant smile. "Coffee please!"

He stood up to full frame, then led the way out of the room. Before reaching the door, she stumbled on a chair leg. Letting out a groan of dismay, she avoided Michael's eyes. Just because she made it to the next level didn't mean she had managed to perfect everything yet.

A twitch near Michael's lips gave away the humor in his tired eyes. "We'll work on that," he promised, then kept walking, leaving her to limp behind in her momentary pain.

Half way up the first set of stairs, Michael turned around, the humor still trapped within the green explosion of his eyes. "By the way, you do realize this means you'll have to say you're sorry to your sensei today?"

She looked exasperated. "Don't you ever forget _anything?_"

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO


	18. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Michael allowed Nikita a celebratory break for a day or so, but the reprieve was short lived. Soon, he was back to his old tactics of teaching, only now he had kicked up the speed. He was forcing Nikita to learn things well and fast and keeping at it until she got it down.

Though he had told Nikita that her evaluation went just fine, Michael had been sweating it out. Operations was playing a game, making his 'enemy' be in charge of the decision for his material's life. It worked out alright this time, but what about the following evaluations? He had to make sure that no matter who did the evaluations - he wasn't on friendly terms with many - they'd be left with no reason to hurt her reputation.

But doing that would mean a lot of work, on his part and on Nikita's. They'd have to accomplish at least double than what they had in the last three months. He only hoped that Nikita's rebellious streak would stay hidden, now that she was gradually getting used to how things are here.

Walter was keeping up with his end of the deal. Four times a week, he was getting Nikita in that shooting gallery, for two, three, four hours at a time. She liked to fool around mainly, but at least her shot was improving, at least somewhat.

Nikita was just a little too playful for her own good. Michael knew that he had ways of making that stop. To make her take things completely seriously. But he didn't want to rush it. Didn't want her to see the horrors until she absolutely had too. He was forced in to seeing those things right away, right after recruitment. Jurgen had wanted him to know exactly what he was getting in to. Do or die, to the extreme. As a result, Michael became one of Section's best operatives in their history. That's what Operations saw. What Section and Oversite saw. What they didn't, was all the emotional damage that it inflicted. The nightmares it created, still haunting even now. The scars on his soul. The chipping away at the good parts of his heart. It had killed him, over and over again, from using that method. He wanted better for the innocent, doe eyed Nikita. She'd have to learn soon enough, but he hoped that it would be a while yet until he had to teach her the hard, cold facts of the place she lived in. He knew what damage Jurgen's tactics had put on him. So he had set out to do the opposite on Nikita.

He tapped his fingers on the desk, something he rarely ever did. Long ago, he had been taught never to show signs of nervousness - finger tapping being a main one. Maybe he was getting in to the habit again - it didn't matter, what were they going to do to him now?

It was long past sundown. He had called Elena with regret in his voice to tell her he wouldn't be home tonight. The way things were going, she'd soon be looking for the mistress who kept him out all night. Oh, if she only knew the truth.

He grabbed the gun from the drawer. He had picked it up earlier from Walter, who didn't even dare ask what it was for. The old man had learned that it was better not to ask. Michael knew what he was doing and wouldn't get him in any trouble...at least most of the time.

Putting it in the back of his pants, then putting on his suit jacket to cover it, he headed for Nikita's room. Another late night lesson. If things kept up this way, Nikita would soon be expecting his presence. But perhaps that was a good thing. Then she'd learn how to sleep with one eye open - the way he did every night. The way every operative slumbered.

Creeping in to her room - he was getting too good at this - he watch her for a moment as she slept in peace. She always seemed so trusting. So...gullable. With her blue, shining eyes looking up at him with childlike trust, he often had a hard time staying her teacher. That look haunted him at the worst times, like now. When he had to scare the living hell out of the unexpecting girl.

He looked at the clock on the wall, focused as the seconds ticked away. After a minute, he straightened up, walked to the bed, and decided what tactics to use. Time to get to work.

In one swift movement, he gathered her wrists behind her back and yanked her out of bed. She gasped, coughed, sputtered, thrashing her head back and forth. "Michael?" she questioned in a harsh whisper, still trying to wiggle out of his strong hold.

"From here, I'd grab you behind your legs and sweep you up. Or perhaps switch to a head lock. I could do a great many things from your incapability. And you are powerless to stop me. Try to get out of my hands, Nikita. Nikita? Stay awake, you're in danger. Try to get away." Obviously, the next time a night lesson took place, he'd have to find someone else to do the lesson. After giving her a gentle shake, her eyes opened again.

She struggled, sluggishly at first, then from the lust of wanting back to her bed, she tried her best as she stared at the plush blanket and pillow haven. She didn't do any damage though, her wrists still securely in his grasp.

"I can't," she finally moaned, dropping her head and calming her body.

"You're not prepared. After living on the streets, I'd hope that you'd already be a light sleeper."

But she shook her head as she shook off his hands on her, then sat on the edge of the bed. "The opposite, I'm afraid. I'd never have had any rest if I was a light sleeper. Not with all the people and the cars and alarms...I had to learn to sleep deeply."

He nodded. "Then we'll have to cure you of that. And you'll need to learn how to be prepared if, when someone comes to take you."

"How?"

He took the gun and handed it to her. "Walter and I will teach you how to safely sleep with a gun. How to use it even when you're half asleep. You're going to get so comfortable with this gun that you'll virtually be able to use it correctly in your sleep and also get your target. This is something we'll be working on alot until you got it down perfectly."

She wiped the sleepy tears from her eyes, allowing gravity to guide her body back to laying in her bed. "Couldn't you have told me this in the daytime?"

"I wanted you to know how helpless you still are. How important it is to learn this. If you don't understand the depth of your lessons, you'll never learn them properly. It's time you start seeing some of Section the way it really is. To start to become a real operative. Go to bed, we're starting lessons an hour early."

Her mouth flew open in dismay. "But why?"

"Along with how to sleep properly, you'll also be teaching your body and mind to work well without so much sleep. Sometimes all an operative gets is an hour or less to sleep a night, if they're on standby or on a mission. You'll have to perform at your best all through the day, perhaps through the night. You fall asleep, you die. We'll gradually be taking your sleeping hours down every few months to make the transition easier. Are you still awake?"

Her eyes fluttered open and she nodded. "But can I sleep now?"

He almost smiled at how childlike she still was. "Yes, Nikita. You can sleep now."

She smiled, wrapping the comforter around herself, turning her attention off of her mentor and on to the bliss of a carefree night.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"Watch carefully," Walter said as he and Nikita stood off to the side. They were staring at Michael, who was laying in a 'bed', acting like he was sleeping. For the first time, Nikita had been introduced to this new place - a plain room with targets lined like wallpaper - a room where you could shoot all around, without having to worry about the penitalies of the walls.

While Michael laid down there, Walter and Nikita viewed comfortably from above in a little perch, behind bullet-proof glass.

"Alright Michael, now," Walter said in to a little microphone looking object as he dimmed the lights slightly.

Michael came alive. His arm swung from under his pillow, sitting up as he twisted to the opposite side, shooting just twice.

Then Michael beckoned for Nikita to come see.

When they reached the shooting room, Nikita could see that Michael hit his targe once in the head, once in the heart, though the room was too dim for him to see well.

"Now that's fine shooting," Walter remarked with respect.

"That's what you're going to learn. Would you like to try now?" Michael asked, now standing upright.

Nikita bit her lip, standing back. "Can't I just...watch? I mean, you're so good at it-"

"I'm not the one who will be tested on it," he reminded her gently.

With a little groan that made Walter grin, she got in to the bed while the two men went up to the perch. She couldn't see them through the one-way glass, which made her more nervous. Could they hear her in here? Michael hadn't said a word while he was doing this, oh so effortlessly. She wasn't really sure.

"It's alright Nikita, just lay back, gun under pillow. When I dim the lights, you shoot at the same target that I did," Michael said through the speaker.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She didn't like being alone, soon to be in the dark, locked in the room. But the sooner she finished, the sooner she'd be with others again.

Keeping her eyes open, she tried to focus on the outline pattern of the wall targets the best she could.

The lights dimmed, making her hand beneath the pillow start to tremble. For someone who wasn't very good at shooting in the first place, this new element just added to the challenge.

She was just glad that the perch glass was bullet proof, despite the fact that it was at least ten feet above the head of her target.

"...Nikita...you're supposed to be shooting," Michael reminded her in a slow drawl.

Oh yes, that's right. For a moment, she had forgotten. Something Michael would have to get around to teach her - how to keep her mind on the task at hand instead of letting it wander every where else.

She got up, much slower than Michael did, then twisted her body...and fell off the side of the bed. Her gun went off and soon she was hearing something shatter, something breaking on the floor around her.

Ouch, that really did hurt. The floor was hard and unforgiving on her back, elbow, leg, head. Something sticky was on her leg and cheek. And it hurt. Little black dots were starting to swirm in front of her eyes, grouping together, making things dark.

Within seconds of her fall, Michael was tripping down the stairs and bursting in to the room.

"Nikita!" he exclaimed as he fell on his knees, acessing her injuries. "Nikita, are you alright?"

Her eyes opened, the dark spots slowly starting to dissipate. She half smiled at her mentor, leaning above her. "Did I hit the target?"

If he hadn't been so worried, he might have came close to smiling. Instead, he kept feeling the parts of her that fell the hardest. "Tell me if anything hurts." His tone was purely serious. Looking behind him, she could see that Walter was looking on as well.

She pushed Michael's hands off of her leg. "I'm fine, leave me go. Really Michael, I just fell."

His jaw was firmly set. "You're bleeding."

So that's what that sticky stuff was. She must have hit the light and shattered the glass, since they hadn't turned the them on again.

"Give me your hand," Nikita requested.

Michael stood, knelt, then offered her both of his large hands. She took them in her own and he pulled her up.

"...You can let go now," She nearly giggled as Michael's hands stayed in her own as he looked her over once more.

"I'll be right back. We'll try it again. Really, it won't be so hard next time." She kept her tone light. Why did she have to be so clumsy? Did she have to be such a screw up with everything she did? Did Michael always have to be disappointed in his ditz of a trainee?

But before she could walk away, Michael put his hand on her shoulder. "No, we'll stop. Maybe I've been driving you a little too hard lately."

My God, he really was worried about her. Wow...that's...wow. She was really surprised at his concern, but shrugged it off. She didn't need pity right now, she needed Michael to have some pride in her.

"No, I'll be right back and then we'll start again. I'm doing just fine." It was a lie, but hopefully Michael wouldn't see through it. Slipping from his grasp, she walked out of the room and found the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, more so to wake her up than to take the blood away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

As the days went on, things just grew more complicated for the protective mentor. He grew more unsettled, grew more uneasy. Since he got here, he always felt like it was him against the world. That feeling only grew as Section began to screw with his head.

Yet it was now when the feeling intensified. It was Section that was purely against him. if he didn't know better, he'd think they thought of him as a terrorist still. Not only did he have to battle with smart ass operatives that gave him hell on missions, operatives inside Section that talked crap about him behind his back and to his face, and Operations' disapproval of many things he did, but now he had Madeline as his biggest enemy.

Nikita had come out of class today, dressed up in heels and mascara, smiling and happy. Happier than he'd seen her in weeks. And why?

_"Madeline's being so nice to me! Maybe she can really be like the mother I never had? You did say she was my new mother. I didn't believe you before, but now..."_

He had been joking when he told her that. But now Nikita was taking it literally. She thought she could trust Madeline. That the older woman was acting like her mother just to be nice. No, Michael understood the woman that was too smart for her, or his, own good.

If only Nikita knew. If only she understood.

The woman that she was calling a mother was the same that told him to Valentine his poor, innocent trainee. She was gathering intel on Nikita's pysche, mind, body. It had nothing to do with bonding or being sweet for her own health. God only knew that Madeline being nice from the goodness of her heart was a sign of the world's end.

Maybe some would call him cruel for thinking that way. Pestimistic. But if they did, they obviously hadn't been through a fourth of what he had. Madeline had dragged him through the mud for years. Done things to him that he begged would one day be erased from his mind. He knew, so he would never be fooled by her. Not again, never ever again.

He wished it was different, but he knew Nikita would have to learn one day. Just another thing he wanted to shield from her for as long as possible. So when she came to him with her happy smile and her mother speech, he had just nodded, his face completely blank, and told her nothing about his misconceptions.

And then he had returned to his office and started to visciously plan. Plan out how he was going to separate the two women, to knock a little sense in to Nikita's mind without damaging her. How would he do that? He wasn't really sure yet, but it had to happen some how.

He wouldn't let her become sucked in to Section's plan. She wouldn't be Section's perfect little whore. She wouldn't even be Section's best operative, like him. Because he knew what kind of hell a person had to go through to be that kind of cold hearted operative.

He flipped on his laptop, then looked at the list Madeline had given him. It was long, many were still unchecked.

Driving was right near the top. Maybe he should try that again. After a second thought...maybe not just yet. Perhaps learning how to dust would be better?

With a groan, he shut the computer again. Who was he kidding? Nikita needed to learn the hard stuff, simple as that. Just...how?

Was he really that bad a teacher? He believed anyone could be taught. He had seen all kinds of people come here, then instantly change in to a fighting, knowledge machine.

So what was wrong with Nikita?

He was running out of ideas. Obviously, he had yet another long night ahead of him.

xXx


	19. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

_A/N: _cavanaugh-girl - Happy Belated Birthday! I'm glad I could be of assistance. :)

Ann: Glad you're feeling better! I always look forward to your lengthy reviews.

gh27: Not too greedy, it keeps me wants to write more. )

Sorry this one is a little short, I didn't have too much time today to finish it up!

XxX

Michael waited outside of Madeline's office for Nikita to come out. She was supposed to be at her next lesson ten minutes ago, but instead, she was still here.

How was he to take Nikita out of this dangerous enviroment if it seemed to be the highlight of her day?

How could he compete with such girly favorites?

He'd have to come up with something better. Something more entertaining to make her want his lessons more than Madeline's. To distract her from this office.

He consulted his list again. His jaw clenched in his dismay. Everything on this list was necessary. None of it was very fun.

He'd have to make it fun.

Nikita was quite the happy go lucky person. She shouldn't be too hard to entertain. He could top anything that Madeline was dishing out. She may be the brains of Section, but he was the best operative. That had to be worth something, didn't it?

Finally, the doors opened, revealing a sight he was none to pleased about. Nikita in a bright red mini skirt, black frilly top, blushing red lipstick, blue eyeshadow and a very fancy hair do. Her heels must have been four inches high, at the least.

"Oh hell," he whispered, turning his head away.

"What's the next lesson?" she asked eagerly, swaying her hips as she walked to him. Madeline's doing, the evil woman.

Through the cover up, Nikita's scratches on her cheek could barely be seen. It flipped his heart, knowing that she got those while he was supposed to be helping her. As an expert in pain, he knew her body must have been screaming in anguish, but she had never showed it. Showing off her stubbornness to him was more important.

Maybe she just might make it to be an operative after all. Stranger things have happened, he supposed.

"First you're going back to your room and taking all of that off. I want you in sensible clothes only. Wipe off all that make up while you're at it. Then you can meet me by Munitions."

Her face fell, letting out a sharp cry. "But why? I just did all of this!"

"I don't know why you bothered. Operatives around here don't walk around Section looking like that. Madeline never should have let you out of the office, wearing such. Now go get changed."

Her eyes reduced in to slits from her anger, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. "I'm telling Madeline! She wouldn't want all her hard work and expensive make up going to waste!"

His anger bubbled past it's safety point. He grabbed her arm, spun her around to look her in the eye. "You won't do anything of the sort. You are my material. You answer to me. Only to me! If I say to go change, you turn and go change. I don't care about your make up or your little ideas of dressing like that. You do as I say. Now. If you don't...things around here are going to get a lot harder for you. I've been going easy. If you abuse it, it'll stop. I sincerely hope you realize the impact of that."

Her nostrails flared, her jaw clenched shut, her teeth gritted together. She yanked her arm forcefully out of his hand, then spun on her heel and marched down the hall. He'd never seen her so angry at him before. Over something so triffle.

Madeline had won this round. Had won over Nikita this time. But a war was made up of many battles. One win didn't mean a thing. It just meant he'd have to work harder.

He always did like a challenge.

XOXOXOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Nikita should have been to Munitions over fifteen minutes ago, and that's if she was dressing as slow as a snail. Something was keeping her away and Michael was just the person to find out what.

Instead of knocking, he opened the door with his key and found his material sitting on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. She was making little choked, sobbing noises as her chest rose and fell heavily.

Her feet were bare, her hair was down, and he bet her make up was now in her hands.

"Nikita?" He hadn't been that hard on her, had he? It was only about make up and dress. When she came here, hardly over three months ago, she couldn't have cared less for such things. And now they're her whole world? "What's wrong?" His voice wasn't quite gentle, but it was an improvement from earlier.

She looked up at him through her fingers, just as the hiccups started to come. That seemed to be a habit of hers, hiccuping when she grew too upset. "What's so wrong...wrong with make up, M-Michael? I can't s-s-shoot. I can't fight. But I can do...I can do this! Why can't I ever make you p-p-p-roud of m-me?" she sobbed through her words and hiccups.

"Nikita, stop it. You have nothing to prove to anyone, unless it's in your evaluations. I am proud of you. I'm proud that you made it this far. That you've tried to improve yourself. It's more than most can say. But now you're putting too much pressure on yourself, can't you see that? Fighting and shooting, whether you're good at it or not, is what's important here. So learn them. Perfect them. And then, after you do that, you can try doing this. It's not important, really. You don't need make up here. Trust me, sweat is prettier than lipstick in Section."

His words didn't help much. Though she put her hands down, now covered in blue and black, she was still confused and upset. "What's so wrong with...with make up? A bit of fun? What's the harm in that?"

Michael nibbled on the inside of his lip, thinking over the question. How to put it in a delicate way? "Some people here have alternate motives. Your best interest is not theirs at heart, even if it may seem that way. Madeline is one of those people." It was a good thing he put up the audio blocker in the room when he first came in, or he himself might be dragged off to cancellation any minute. "Think of it this way, Nikita. The only reason why these people are in here is because they were some of the worst people in society. Section's attention is only pulled when there's someone really worthwhile. And Madeline is the number two, because she's the best at her job...and the worst of society. She's dangerous."

"...You're the top operative of Section. So what does that make you?"

"Smart," he said simply. Yes, once he had been a terrorist. He had been angry and frustrated and hated everything. He thought justice was served with what he was doing. He had seen the errors in his ways, mended his thoughts, but by then, it was already too late. Section had him locked and caged away, chained to his life sentence.

"So Madeline putting make up on me is her way of being secretly evil?"

Okay, so she really wasn't getting it. Maybe one day, Nikita would look back at this moment and be able to answer this question herself. He hoped not, but that knowledge was bound to come sooner or later. It wasn't something he could stop.

"No, Nikita. Her actions are not evil Just her motivations. Remember who you're living with here. Remember that I'm the one who has your best intentions at heart. I'm the one who's going to protect you. And take care of you. I'll give you everything you need to stay alive." He paused, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down. "Never trust anyone here. Take everything others tell you with a grain of salt. Don't believe anything anyone says unless you know for sure it's true. Get proof for everything. And don't turn away from me. There will be people who will try to turn you against me. Like Madeline. Like...many. Don't listen to them. I'm your mentor. I'm looking out for you." Phew. Too many words for him. But at least it made her stop crying. Her tears had ceased. Her breathing was almost under control. And her hiccups were calming down. There was almost a smile in her eyes.

"Okay, Michael," she whispered, wiping her sleeve across her cheeks.

Good. It had taken too much time, but at least he had succeeded in getting her on his side again. Maybe she'd live to be an operative yet. Only time would tell.

XxX


	20. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

A/n: Ann: Your review was the last thing I saw before I left. I literally read it then ran out the door - it was a great way to leave so thanks!

ga-4-ever: I'm not too happy that Michael does talk as much as he does, but as the story goes on, I'm going to try and slip him in to his normal speaking pace. Glad his subtle caring is coming through!

cavanaugh.girl : Thanks alot

Lerrinus: glad to see you're reading! I'm thrilled you like the story!

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"...What's going on?" Nikita asked, stopping in the middle of the doorway to tilt her head in confusion.

In front of her was a full kitchen set, Michael, and a woman in an apron and hairnet beside him. Michael had called her here instead of going to Madeline's. She thought it was a bit strange before, but now she wasn't sure what to think. After all, Michael with aprons and oven mitts really didn't seem to go together in her mind. She supposed that was where the woman came in.

"You're going to learn how to do simple cooking today," Michael's voice was all seriousness and direct to the point.

"So...you're inviting me to burn this hellish place down?" she said hopefully, only half joking. When she was new to the streets, her first meal she attempted to cook had overflowed the fire barrel, making the large flames spill down a back street, invading people's makeshift street beds. After that, she had to find a new town to wander and sleep in.

Nikita had never cooked again. All her food was either from cans, ready made, fruits, or already freshly baked and stolen. Now she was to cook? Maybe she should warn Michael, and the fire brigade, about her past mishaps. Especially after remembering the time she caught the house on fire that her mother and she was staying in when she attempted to cook a Thanksgiving meal. Just another holiday her mother was too drunk to do anything for.

She never did understand why the flames had rose so high. Was soda flammable? Maybe the big bottle of oil?

But before Nikita had a chance to do any warning, a plain white, starched apron was thrusted in to her arms. Oh well, knowing this place, they probably already knew about it. Maybe they were just giving her a chance to destroy this part of Section on purpose - a reason to remodel? If they were planning to fix it up, she had lots of ideas for this metal contraption.

"Tie that around you, then put this on." A hair net was handed over to her by the woman, still nameless. Section never was much for introductions.

Nikita's face twisted in conflict. She had spent an hour on her hair today to make Madeline proud. That was, before Michael _kindly_ decided to ruin her schedule. Well, she had been an extra ten minutes late to this lesson because of it.

The hair net would ruin her hard work. But Michael's face was very serious as he bored holes in to her from across the room.

"D-do I have to?" she dared to whisper. She was having her best hair day ever. If the lesson was only going to end disasterous anyway, did she have to ruin everything about today?

"Nikita," Michael's voice was stern, impatient. After all, he had a reputation to withhold in front of others. "You're already late. Stop delaying."

That was the end of that. Nikita dutifully put on the hair net, making sure all her hair was inside. She must look ridiculous, but she was out of choices.

Walking further in to the room, Nikita started to notice her surroundings more. On the table were mixing bowls, large spoons, flour and eggs, and a few other objects she couldn't really identify.

"Let me guess...If I knew you were comin' I'd've baked a cake?" she quirked.

Michael seemed confused at this, so Nikita just smiled. It was an old 1950's song her mother used to hum or sing to her sometimes. Strange, how many memories she was starting to experience here, away from anything familiar. She hadn't thought of that song since she was about seven years old. Now here she was introducing her mentor to it.

Michael moved to the door. "I expect to have a satisfactory report when I come back. Nikita, behave."

Nikita watched him walk out and shut the door firmly. She didn't have a good feeling about this.

Walter was unsuccessfully trying to not smile, while Birkoff was laughing outright. "And h-how did this h-happen?" Walter wheezed.

Nikita looked at them both with a frown, sitting on the counter with a pout on her lips. "He wasn't supposed to be back so soon - therefore it wasn't really my fault! I'm just plain unlucky in the kitchen. It has nothing to do with who the teacher is or where I am - I just can't cook! Or...bake, apparently."

"Skip the self pity and get to the good stuff," Birkoff said with a wave of his hand.

Rolling her eyes, Nikita sighed and drew her legs to her chest. "The room was a mess. I had spilt...one or two cups of flour and sugar. And maybe an egg or two. We'd taken longer than I suppose Michael was expecting, but I had finally got the batter perfect. Well, eggshell-less. And almost edible looking. Anyway, I had poured it in to the pan and it was all ready for the oven - which was still heating up because I had forgotten to put it on earlier. So Miss temporary mentor - who had never given me a name to call her - told me to hurry and clean up. So I got a wet rag and I started to go after the flour - but that only made the mess worse. I started getting frantic because I knew Michael would be coming soon and I bumped the table and spilled more things..." She buried her face in her hands in shame of the memory.

"Keep going," Birkoff eagerly encouraged.

She darted him an angry glare. "What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be tracking down terrorists or something?"

He shook his head with an equally evil glare. "Just get on with it."

"So I tried sweeping. But sweeping wet flour created a nasty problem. And that's when Michael walked in. He started talking to Miss whatever-her--name-was and didn't look at the floor. He walked where the eggs had spilt and lost balance. He tried to stay up so he tried to launch himself the other way, but he tried too hard and ended up..."

Birkoff nearly fell off his own feet from laughter. "So he fell face first in to the batter! Only a clutz like you could pull that off!"

Walter looked disapprovingly at Birkoff, but couldn't help himself from laughing either.

"You just better hope he can get all that mess out of his hair." The teenager said more seriously. "If he has to shave his head...you'll _never_ be forgiven. Never. You'll be sent to cancellation before the first lock of hair falls to the floor. In fact, I probably should be watching the cancellation list - to be fair, I'll give you a heads up before the big guys come to carry you away."

Nikita watched Birkoff walk back to his station, her chin trembling. She peered back at Walter with wide, questioning eyes. Was that true?

"Don't worry, Sugar. The boy obviously never heard of shampoo and conditier...and alot of it. If Michael's worked this hard to keep you for this long, he won't give up on you for such a trivial thing."

But she just shook her head. "You didn't see his face. You didn't see how angry he looked at me. Like this was the last straw. Like I finally did him in."

"I'm sure you'll be just fine. Even a man like Michael must have a sense of humor sometimes...I think."

"That's not very comforting."

Walter offered a smile and a pat on her knee.

"Do you know any good hiding places around here?" was her last question.

He put his hand on her shoulder with a wistful smile. "Hiding isn't the answer. But...staying low for a little while might not be a bad thing either."

Nikita nodded and hopped off the counter. "I'll see you in a little while then," she added a smile to take away the humiliation, but wasn't sure it worked. Now wanting to stand around waiting for Michael to pass by, she offered a wave in Walter's direction, then dashed across Section's center and towards the staircase to the lower levels.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Walter watched in amusement as Michael walked back and forth, between Systems, Munitions, and the stairwells. His hand was forcefully shoving away stray hair, his boots smacking hard against the floor.

A look over to Birkoff showed that he was watching in enjoyment as well.

Finally, Michael made his way over to the elder man, looking weary and irritated. "Do you know where Nikita is?" He seemed almost embarrassed to have to ask of the whereabouts for his material. After all, it was his responsibility to know.

"I believe she's attempting to lay low, if that is at all possible with for someone like her." He hadn't thought it possible, but apparently it was, if she was still so well hidden three hours later.

Michael tapped the round tips of his fingers against the counter as he mentally ran through all the possibilities of where Nikita might be. It was a tough job - after all, Section was a very large place. If you don't watch a recruit close enough, you might end up finding them trapped in the white room or somewhere equally dangerous to their life span.

Without another word or tap, Michael turned and walked away, in no direction in particular.

Really, Walter did pity the man. As much as he loved Nikita, she was always getting in to trouble of some sort. It must be a tough, tiring job to keep up with all of her mischief.

He only hoped that the new mentor could keep up with it. Although, if anyone could do it, certainly Michael could.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Michael sighed heavily in relief, looking through the window in the door to see that his hunt was over.

Nikita was sitting on one of the washing machines, her eyes closed, a shaky smile on her lips, and music playing on the stereo beside her.

He opened the door and walked in, but Nikita hadn't noticed. Taking advantage of her ignorance, he crossed the room and swiftly unplugged the stereo, which brought her to attention immediently.

"Oh...hello M-Michael." She gave him a confident smile, but the tremble in her voice betrayed her simple fear. Had Birkoff not told her about cancellation time? Had he been joking? Was that why Michael was here?

"You've missed lessons," he said simply, as if that was a suitable greeting after searching for hours.

"I lost my schedule. I didn't know where to go. You've changed so many of my class hours that I don't remember it anymore."

"Then why didn't you come and ask me?"

Nikita avoided his eyes, looking down bashfully. "I wasn't so sure that would be a good idea. My skills may be poor but my survival instincts are high."

Ever witty, Michael had to force his blank stare to stay in place. "You were afraid of me?"

She stared at a pale splatter of cake that still clung to the edge of one of his curls. "Well, yes. That's general. But today I'm more afraid of what you'll do, rather than who you are or what you'll make me learn."

"You thought that I would cancel you? You ran and hid because you thought from me losing my temper that I would actually end your life? Do you think me so trifle?"

"What I thought was that you were too angry to care. That you finally realized that I was too much trouble for you."

He saw that she had been talking to Birkoff again. "Is that what you want me to do? Are you trying to make me come to that realization?"

"No, but it seems to come naturally."

He nearly laughed outright. Nearly. "I've come to the conclusion that you have to have one big mess up before you can learn anything. I'll count this as that mess up. Tomorrow, I expect you to learn and do better."

Nikita groaned. "I have to do it again?"

"You may not like the lessons and you may be terrible at them, but that doesn't mean you don't have to learn them. To perfect them. I've tried to make this lesson fun. I gave you a woman teacher to talk to. I allowed you music in the classroom. It's more than any other mentor would have done."

She wrinkled her nose. "She wouldn't talk to me. I don't even know her name! And the music...it was horrible - and she wouldn't change the station! I've had more fun breaking my bones in the gym than baking with that woman."

"You still have to learn. Tomorrow, I'll try teaching you. Now, if that's all, it's time for you to get to bed."

"...Actually, I do have a question that I was wondering about." After all, she had plenty of time to think things over today. "I haven't been to Madeline's for three days now. Why not?"

"Because the lessons I'm teaching you are more important than dressing you up and looking pretty."

"I can't imagine that Madeline would agree with you."

"She didn't. I talked directly to Operations and he saw it from a level minded perspective." Meaning, he saw it from the man's point of view. "He granted the leave, but I suspect that's only because Madeline hadn't gotten there first. Which is rare, but occasionally happens. It won't last much longer so we have to take advantage of this time." As soon as Madeline was fed up enough, she'd make Operations see her point of view. She'd share her motives, make them his. It was a dangerous step he took in causing attention to how he was trying to defer their carefully laid out plans, but he had needed to take some kind of action and thought this would be a good move. Perhaps it was best to let them know early in the game that he wouldn't go along with their hopes for his material. He wouldn't give in to their power play.

Michael helped Nikita off the washer, then grabbed the stereo. "Get to bed, I have to return this."

She looked mournful to see her newfound stereo friend go, but obeyed his command. She headed to her room for another peaceful sleep that would too shortly be interrupted at some ungodly hour to start yet another fearful, strange day.

XxX


	21. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

_A/N: This chapter got away from me a bit. Writing at nighttime always tends to make me deter away from my carefully laid out plans. But when I read it over in the morning, I liked it so I kept it in. Hope you all feel the same!_

_ BTW, I forgot to answer this in the last chapter's notes: Ann, you asked why Nikita had scratches on her cheek. That was the aftermath of shooting out the light. I believe Nikita said she could feel blood on her face? That was that. _

_XxX_

It was two weeks later, two months left until the next evaluation. Not quite close enough to start getting scared, but too close for complete comfort.

Michael stared at his crumpled list grimly. Nikita awaited patiently as he ran his eyes over the paper over and over, looking for something to do today.

"We'll try sleeping with a gun again. This time...try to miss the lights." His voice was in a joking tone, but a flash of his eyes told her that he was serious. Please, no more broken lights. Shooting them out the first time had costed too much time and resources, causing too much attention to her low skill average.

After Michael had showcased his perfect form, it was up to Nikita to take a turn and try it out. They practiced for hours, even skipped lunch, so that she could get better at this important trait.

By the end of the day, she still wasn't hitting the target, but she was hitting the walls - and the bullets usually found purchase somewhere near the range of their intended spot.

Though she wasn't too much better at this than when they had first started, the day hadn't been wasted. Michael was satisfied with her progress, giving her a nod as he surveyed each bullet hole.

"Not too badly done for your second day. We'll keep up with this. But Nikita, remember to take your safety off the gun before attempting to shoot."

It had been her major flaw. When she slept with the gun, the safety had to be on. Easy enough rule. But she always seemed to forget about the safety, then tried to shoot with it on. Much confusion, and incidents, happened in cause of this, but she was slowly starting to catch on.

"You're done for today. Go get dinner then head to your room. I believe you have a pile of homework left to do."

She hated how his memory worked. It remembered _everything. _Her mind stood out in great contrast - her memory had little capacity, as it seemed. She couldn't remember one lesson to the next - whether it was taught in school or by Michael. Rules that seemed simple to others were difficult for her to do. It reminded her of the days at home, when one of her mother's boyfriends - or even her mother herself - would call her stupid. Good for nothing. Lazy and dumb. She had always refused to believe it. When she was still in school, she tried her best to get the best grades possible. But it wasn't easy and the good grades never did stay long. She had always accounted that for her situation - cold sleepless nights. A loud, abusive home. Little to eat. Beatings from her peers on the way home. It was alot of pressure - she couldn't be expected to obtain straight A's with her kind of lifestyle.

Had she been lying to herself? Had all those negative people of her past been right?

No, of course not. That was just silly. She could learn. If she set her mind to it, she could do anything. She had made it this far, hadn't she? Not just four months in Section, but through her life. From each bad home to the next. From barely no shelter to none. From having to take care of her mother to having to take care of herself on the streets. To fend, feed, and live all on her own. She had survived nineteen years of hellish life - certainly she could keep going. Nothing could be that bad. Not as bad as all of what she's been through stacked together. She'd be alright. She'd learn. She might not be a quick learner, but she was a survivor. Life had always shown her that.

That stated, she still hoped things would get easier as time went on, because belief in herself tended to get shaky after too long of failure.

She only hoped Michael's belief didn't give out as quick as hers.

No matter what he said, she still feared cancellation from him, if not Operations. She was a lot to handle and she'd continue to be until she could get a handle on all this. This new, strange lifestyle.

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Operations's good graces didn't last long. Nikita was back in Madeline's classes again, getting more clothing and make up and dance routines shoved at her faster than she could shoot a safety lock gun.

Nikita couldn't help herself - the lessons were sinking in and sticking with her. The street rat that had nothing for so long couldn't help but to go wild over the lush, beautiful things that were paraded before her. She lusted after any beauty she could find. She had always desired pretty things after coming from a life that was ugly and cold and dark. On the streets, in her mother's many homes, she had never owned anything that glittered when the sun kissed it. Or shimmered on her when she danced outside. Nothing ever made her eyes look bright, her cheeks look rosy, her lips look lush. She had never known of this beautiful world that could make her look beautiful within it. She had seen it on others, yes. But it never had occured to her outside of her wildest dreams that any of it could belong to her. Until now. How could she resist? Michael was expecting too much if he thought she could keep away from these 'evils', as he called them. She could die happy, surrounded by all that was offered to her here.

Coupled by such wonderful things, was a woman who smiled at her when she came for lessons. Madeline's doe brown eyes, seemingly so innocent, softened. Her peaceful serenity glowed throughout the office. It was addictive and Nikita couldn't help but to be pulled in to it. To let the comforting feeling wrap it's arms around her and suck her in to where things seemed happy.

The office of Madeline always seemed to Nikita like it was out of place in Section. How could somewhere so welcoming belong in such a cold dark place like Section was?

When she was in here, Nikita couldn't remember Michael's wise words of warning. How could she? MIchael seemed paranoid and just plain wrong. After all, it didn't seem to make sense. His words of foreboding clashed with her beautiful world, intruding and trying to turn it ugly.

She knew Michael was only looking out for her safety. She could trust him; that she never doubted. But when his words threatened to crash her one place of solace, she decided she didn't want the truth. She didn't care. She rather live here in serene falsehood than to live in the cold hard facts that lay outside the office door.

The truth just wasn't very convient for her, and Lord knew she could use a little convience in her life. If it was this place that could offer that, what solid reason did she had for abandoning it? What if Michael was wrong and she shunned this place, burned it's bridges? She could never go back and all that made her heart flutter would be gone from her.

She couldn't risk such a thing happening to her. She'd be as careful as possible, keeping Michael's words in the back of her mind always, but she'd remain here certainly.

Nikita even had hopes of making her room in this office's image. In fact, she wanted to make her apartment, if she ever made it that far, in it's mirror image as well. To dwell in it's glimmering, shining, pretty and adored little miracles. It's what she thought about each night before going to bed. To prevent the nightmares of her past and feared future, she'd dream about better things. About what she'd do when she had her life more in her grasp and control.

Michael could say what he wanted about Madeline and the heaven that laid behind office doors. But he had a place to go home to away from Section. He already had his life guarenteed. He could rest easy at night, she was sure. It was a different story for her. She needed these few things she craved. She wanted them, she needed them, a bit of her even lived for them. She could never give these little wonders up. They were too precious, all calling out for her to adore them and in return, to lavish her. How could she possibly resist such an invitation?

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Michael was starting to get worried.

Scratch that.

He's been worried ever since the amazon beauty so called his material first stepped through his door those four months ago.

But now that simple fear that lingered at the back of his neck and occasionally in his nightmares was growing into something more. Bigger. He was becoming terrified that he'd fail at something. Something so major. He'd fail at the human life that was his assignment.

The situation seemed to be slipping out of his hands and away from his control. There was really nothing he could do to stop it, was there? She was running too far out of his area and in to danger's. He'd been trying to reign her back in, but she keeps wanting to wander out to pasture - and succeeding on her side better than he was on his.

He was Section's top operative.

He was the most covented operative known to Section; even Oversight adored him.

What would everyone say if they knew a little nineteen year old girl had bested him? That he failed in training the stubborn brat?

What would become of Nikita if he allowed her to go her own way?

No, he knew. He didn't even have to give it a moment's thought -_ he knew. _

She would become inhuman. First they'd destroy her. Kill everything and anything inside. _Everything._ They'd put her through so many grueling and cruel tasks that she'd allow all emotion to drain from her. She'd become robotic after so long of wishing she was dead.

She'd be housed in Section always - she'd be a suicide threat for the first couple of years or so. They'd keep cameras on her at all times.

She'd have no friends. No smile. Nothing behind those now expressive blue eyes.

And once she was perfectly unfeeling, she'd be the best operative there ever was. Much better than Michael was or ever could be. She'd follow orders, allow them to drag her through the most painful of hells. She'd be Section's best, but the most pitied of human beings.

The angels in Heaven would constantly weep tears for her in their sorrow. The worst demons in Hell would be opening the gates and their welcoming arms in anxious await for her arrival.

He knew all this, because he had been on the same path. He hadn't had anyone to shield him from the evils of Section that had been unknown to him. He experienced everything first hand - no warnings, no help.

He never forgave Jurgen for the damage he allowed to be inflicted when Michael was still innocent of Section's ways. It hadn't been fair. It hadn't even been human. But the situation was as it was. Too late for pain now. He had more problems to worry about these days.

The only thing that had stopped Michael on his journey down hell's pathway was Simone. She had saved him from his emotionless state. After his parents had been killed, his sister thought he was dead and having been dragged through Section's worst training tactics, he hadn't cared about what he did. He was quickly on his way to becoming that best operative ever. Simone had put a stop to it. Quickly filled his labrinyths of emptiness with caring and hope. And for the good she did for him, she was killed. Section had allowed her to die. Because her rebellious caring hadn't fit in with their plans.

Michael was thrown through a downward spiral after her death, but he was starting to be redeemed. He wasn't back to how she had made him - he doubted he ever would be again - but he was out of the darkest of despair.

Operations had made him a mentor so he could get his mind off his wife's unjustified death. So that he didn't destroy himself completely. He was valuable - there was no sense in letting that go to waste.

He had been through so much in his days here. In seven years, he had seen the very ingredients that make up only the worst nightmares. He had seen things that no one should ever be allowed to see and have to keep living afterwards. But that's simply how his life was. It was how things for him worked. And nothing could change it. It was to be accepted and not dwelled upon.

But he didn't want his hell to expand. To let others go through what he had to and still is. Especially not that sweet girl currently locked in Madeline's demonic office.

He knew that she couldn't be innocent of the crime she claimed she never committed. True, the crime just didn't match up at all with her personality, but she had been a desperate, angry teenager living on the streets. In such cases, teens like her were capable of anything. Besides, how else could she have caught Section's eye if they weren't completely sure that she had been guilty? He'd like to ask Operations how he thought Nikita could already be the cold blooded killer that she was supposed to be, but that would raise too many questions and put Nikita in jeopardy.

Even if she was a criminal, she was more innocent than he had originally thought. Nikita really couldn't see any danger in Madeline's grim, icy smile. Couldn't crack the facade,see behind it like he so easily could. And it seemed that Nikita was developing something Madeline never deserves to have - an attraction to Madeline as in a mother daughter relationship. His pure, young material was holding the cold blooded woman on a pedestol. Well, as they say, the higher you hold them, the harder you fall.

Michael wished he could break Nikita of the relationship and idolism now, but he knew that it would be fruitless. In fact, the very action could cause the opposite desired effect. Instead of Nikita breaking it off, she might get angry and turn her back to him - then blindly follow Madeline in to the mouth of hell - right past the point of no redemption. That's where Madeline really lived - not in that office. Not in a home in the city. But long past that line with the danger signs shrowding it. Past the dank and dark places. In to a place that's not imaginable to those with lesser sins than she. And she never hesitated to try and drag others in with her. Misery loves company. So does Satan.

All of this was keeping Michael up at night and bringing his worst nervous twitches back to habit. He thought Jurgen had firmly broken each one of them long ago, but apparently Nikita had enough power to raise them right back again.

He couldn't allow himself to fail. Not only was his reputation at stake, but so was the shambled crumbles of what just might be left of a soul somewhere deeply hidden within.

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Nikita settled in on the comfy chair, her legs folded and her chin propped up on her fist. Madeline sat at her desk, briefing through a few papers. It was nearing the end of their lesson. They had gone through practicing new dance steps to putting on minimal makeup that Nikita still wore displayed on her face. Madeline had been called away, but clearly there was still more she wanted to accomplish before letting the recruit go.

Always at some point in the lesson was a discussion, where Madeline would probe in to the parts of Nikita's small life that she wasn't directly involved in. So far, that part had been omitted today, so Nikita knew it was coming. These little discussions tended to go the same way each time. Beforehand, she'd be nervous. What questions would be asked this time? Would any of her answers send her to an early grave? Would her answers give away any secrets that Michael was hiding from these higher powers?

But once Madeline started in, the atmosphere would relax and Nikita would sink in to the calm of it all. She'd reply as if she was talking to a trusted friend, her walls of hesitation broken down. It was easy to talk here, to talk to Madeline. It was just another finely woven spell that hung in this magical place.

The pile of papers were slid in to a thin manilla folder and put aside. Madeline returned her attention to her student. "So where were we?" She knew exactly where they were. Just a friendly little part of that pretty little spell that kept Nikita feeling talkative. "Oh yes. I know it's been a rough time for you here. It's a hard adjustment. I'm sure Michael knows that and is taking care of you the best he can. But still, he's a man. A cold, unfeeling one at that. And men just don't understand a woman's needs. They can be quite blind. I know well - this place is run solely by one gender - and it's not ours. I am one of the two rare exceptions, still I'm not high enough to say I run Section." It was testosterone city, in other words. Yes, Nikita had picked up on that early in the game. And? "So I'm saying...if you ever need to talk to somebody, you can come to me. Michael's there to teach you. As I'm sure you've discovered, he's not one for words. Not many here are. But my door is always open. I'll listen and advise you in anything you need. I'd like for you to think of me as a friend. As someone you may feel comfortable confiding in. I'd like a chance to earn that trust. Therefore, anytime you might be confused or just frustrated, let me know."

It was a sweet gesture, one of which didn't pass Nikita's notice. She smiled happily, reassured that her happy, wonderful place was just that.

But turning her head, she saw one door was open, and Michael stood stony faced in it's way.

Madeline quickly checked her watch, pretending she didn't know perfectly well what time it was. "I'm sorry Michael, I didn't realize we were over our time limit. If you'd like to join our little discussion, you just have to ask."

"That won't be necessary." He said flatly. "Nikita, come with me."

Nikita did precisely as she was told. Her magical lair had suddenly turned cold and full of tension that shouldn't be here. She wanted to get Michael and the bad vibes he sent out of the office.

He walked her to her next lesson without saying a word. He seemed to be steaming in his frustrated anger. It looked to Nikita that he just might need one of those offered trusted chats with Madeline.

XxXx


	22. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

_A/N:_

_ScandalouslyMe: Glad to see you reading my story!_

_ga4ever & cavanaugh-girl: Isn't there always trouble lingering when Section is concerned:)_

_Ann: Well, you know I love your reviews. lol_

XxX

Though the days passed by slowly for Michael in his battle to cure Nikita of her fashion disease, they flew by in another sense - another evaluation was on their heels. At just over a month away, Michael found himself laying in one of Section's beds in the vast sleeping room, checking off what he had managed to teach Nikita well enough that she could be tested on. And actually pass.

To his great dismay, there wasn't too many check marks to make. But at least he had managed very basic cooking. She knew how to boil water. She could make boiled eggs. She could even go one step farther and almost make an edible egg salad.

She could chop up vegetables in the diagonal slices he had showed her, but she still ended up going to bed with bandages lacing up and down her poor fingers. Med lab was starting to have their own inside jokes about the recruit, they saw her so much. Their favorite was that while living on the streets, Nikita had gotten tangled in the mafia and now they were back, trying to cut off her fingers for payment, but never quite succeeding. It was all fun and games to them, but to Michael, it was a very serious matter.

She needed to pass the evaluation. She needed to do better than simple salads and cooking from cans and packets.

She needed to perfect her shooting. She needed to learn how to leave a man breathless by more than allowing them to simply look at her. Her knock out good looks would do nothing for her when she had a ski mask on. Then where would she be?

He was training her hard, but she just wasn't catching on yet. She should know these things, but it wasn't in her to stir up a passion for such traits. And if she had no passion, no desire, she wouldn't learn.

At one time, she was frightened for her life enough to blindly do anything he wanted. It hadn't lasted long though, and now with Madeline catering and wooing her, Nikita thought her cancellation threat days were over.

She was wrong. So very wrong.

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Nikita was eyeing the make up, walking around it as if she was on the prowl.

She had just arrived, and with Madeline busy, she was trying to check out the new shipments.

Unfortunate for her, Madeline didn't have the frilly stuff in mind today.

"Can you come over here, Nikita? I'd like to talk to you today."

The trainee's nose wrinkled. Talk? That wasn't fun. But she did as she was told, taking a cozy seat in front of Madeline and prepared for what may come.

Madeline was clicking away on her computer, a frown on her face. "This is your file, Nikita. It tells me what you've accomplished so far. Perhaps even more important, it tells me where you've come from. Who you are, as could only be defined in plain facts and figures."

Nikita didn't understand the question. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Yes, there is. This says you've moved around a lot as a child with your mother, who was an alcoholic, among quite a few other things. She had many boyfriends through your young life. And then suddenly, right here," She pointed to a paragraph on the screen that was too far away for Nikita to read, "it says you were on the streets. Disapproval of the most current boyfriend of your mother is the written cause. After that, the facts dwindle away. That's not much information. I'd like to know more."

It wasn't a topic the recruit was most fond of. In fact, she would have rathered trying to grip hold of Michael's little secrets he had of her that Madeline could try to pry out. But it didn't matter what she wished. This was the chosen topic of today and there would be no deterring this woman. "What do you want to know?"

"Why were you kicked out on to the streets? By a man named...Billy? Who was this Billy? Did he really make you leave or did you run away? I'd like to know more about this time."

Great. Just great. The worst part of her young life was now going to be told for Section's information files. "It's a long story. Not very interesting."

Madeline checked her watch. "I have plenty of time. Start at the beginning. Tell me about this man. What happened. How he changed things. Don't be afraid to expand."

Sighing, Nikita nodded. "Billy was an abuser. To my mother, to me. He was mean and horrible and usually drunk but always hateful. Always blaming innocents for his wrongs. He was the worst of them all. I hated him the most, but he was the one who stuck around the longest."

"Did you ever try to make him leave?"

"Yeah, I did. I told my mom once about how horrible he was to me. I thought that would make her understand and we could leave. But it only made things worse. She told me I was ungrateful and spoiled. That we had a good life here and I'd thank her later. Billy overheard and grew furious. If he didn't hate me before, he really did after that. He was always trying to get his revenge on me."

"How?"

Nikita held back the tears that immediately started to sting her eyes. "I had a kitten, when I was little. I was lonely. Between the bullies at school and the ones at home, I had no one to talk to. So I had a kitten that I kept. I'd feed her half of my food, wash her fluffy white fur, make a little bed for her out of an old sweatshirt I had. I had to hide her from Billy and my mother. It was my own little secret and I think I loved the kitten even more because of it. I kept her hidden for a few months without incident. I was so careful. That kitten had become my whole world. Like my own little baby. I was the mother to her that my mother wasn't to me." She paused, suddenly not wanting to go on anymore. She hadn't revisited this memory since it happened. She didn't like it. It hurt too much.

"Did Billy find her?" Madeline probed, wanting the information from her.

"I had gotten hurt. One day I was too busy daydreaming, I guess. Picking flowers too. The kitten always loved to play with flowers as toys. I didn't hear the gang of kids sneaking around the alleyways that I was between. And they finally caught me. I was late coming home because when I woke up, it was already dark. I was slow in walking home because I had to make sure I was going the right way - I was never out in the dark, or at least when I was going home. And I was limping because my ankle was badly sprained. That morning I hadn't had breakfast and no time to scrounge up something for the kitten to eat. She had been relying on me to come home right after school for her food. But when I didn't, she had to find a way out of my room to find something herself. I'm not sure how she did it still, but she escaped. She wandered around the house. Billy found her just as I was coming through the door." This was stupid and a waste of time. How could this little memory have any importance to her status? It wasn't fair that she had to dig up these painful memories. Evaluation was in a month and she was just as nervous as Michael, who was starting to visibly show it. She should be training, not recalling such tales. But Madeline was staring at her in such a way to pressure her in to continuing. She had no choice, stupid as it was or not.

"The kitten knew it's way around. It was well fed and clean and easy to see that she wasn't just visiting. Billy got angry, said all his hard earned food was going to waste on that rodent. He was in another drunken stupor and angry at anything he saw, but especially me. He didn't even see that I was so hurt, only that I had gotten home late and didn't do the dishes or make his dinner. He thought that the house was so dirty because I was paying all my attention to the cat, even though the house was ready to fall because it was so run down. There was nothing anyone could do to clean that place up. But he didn't care. He opened the door and he..." her gaze met her teacher's. "Do I have to continue? Maybe we should practice posture and balance or-"

"Continue, Nikita," Madeline said in an emotionless tone. Maybe she was too busy relating to cruel, careless Billy to hear her plea.

"He threw the cat like it was a football. Our lawn was a little square surrounded by cement. My kitten missed the soft grass and landed on the pavement. Even from the house, everyone could hear the crumble of her little bones. She cried in painful wails in her anguish, laying there, barely breathing. Her thick, beautiful white fur that I had kept so pristine was now being bathed in her own blood. She was suffering. I tried to run out and help her, but Billy grabbed me, wouldn't let me out the door. My mother stood behind us. She could hear my kitten's cries to me. She couldn't be bothered to care for her daughter, but when the animal was mistreated, she became upset. Told Billy that maybe he shouldn't have done that and he should at least let me check on the kitten. But he just got angered and slapped her. I watched for a moment, stunned, as she fell to the floor with a scream. Until that moment, I never stood up to Billy. I knew what he was capable of. But between my baby kitten and my mother both getting hurt by him, it was too much. I just snapped. I started to kick and hit him as hard as I could, doing anything to inflict him as much pain as he had me."

"What happened?"

"I lost. I was too little and already hurt, he was big and angry. He eventually ended up grabbing me by my hair and dragging me outside. Told me to never come back or he'd kill me. After what he did to my kitten, I didn't doubt him. I grabbed a rag on the way out and wrapped the kitten inside it. She bleeding and I with my limping ankle...I tried to get her to the vet clinic in time, but I was too slow. Two blocks away, she quit breathing. Went completely limp. So I change direction and buried her in the park I used to sneak her to on the weekends. She had loved it there, and I did too. After that, I waited nearby my house until it was dark. Once I was sure my mother and Billy were asleep, I snuck back in to get my things. Nothing was there. Billy had cleaned out my room - I never did find any of my things. I even checked at the dump but they never showed. The only thing that had been left was a picture of my mom on her dresser that I took, and that sweater that was a bed to my kitten. I grabbed these two things, then took off. I never talked to my mother again. On holidays sometimes I'd go back and spy on her, but eventually I stopped. After all, she never came after me. I know because for the first two weeks I stayed right around the house and waited for my mother to call the police. To go out looking. To even show signs that she missed me or was scared for her daughter's safety. But none of that ever happened. That's when I truly realized she didn't care, so I left for good. And somehow, that eventually led me here. Crazy life, huh?"

Madeline sat back, tracing her finger along her desk. "That'll do, Nikita. Thank you."

Wait, that was it? No follow up or reward? No trying on the glamorous new dresses she had spotted? She couldn't seriously be released so early! Not without a stitch of fun!

But the older woman's face was composed of complete seriousness, so Nikita had no choice but to stand up and leave.

Checking the clock before the doors shut, she saw that she had a half hour until her next lesson. Well, a little downtime wouldn't hurt.

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"Hey! Nikita, hey!"

Nikita stopped walking, looked around until she saw one of her recruit friend's peeking their head out. "We need your help, hurry!"

She didn't stop to ask questions. Instead, she ran in the room, just to stop short when she saw what was inside.

"What's this?"

"It followed him home last night. By the time he realized it, it was too late. But we can't get it back out, so we're sneaking him around. They're doing a check in these rooms today. You're on the other side - those rooms aren't scheduled until tomorrow. Just block out the cameras and we'll take it back in the morning."

A pure white kitten, just a few months old from the look of it and barely more than a half a foot long, was put in her arms.

Nikita looked frantic as the tiny thing purred in her arms. "I-I can't take this! I'll get caught!" With Michael's strange sixth sense that told him whenever she was getting herself in trouble, she wouldn't be five minutes with the kitten before her mentor knew about it.

"We call him Bob," said a male recruit, a proud smile on his face.

Nikita broke out of her worry for a moment. "It's a female."

"...Oh." The smile withered away.

"Just proves to show that you're able to handle the kitten better than we are. Look, if they find us, they'll not only kill that poor cat, but they'll kill every one of us. Look, you have fur on you now. You'll be traced to us and killed along with the rest. If you don't help us, you're in danger too."

That wasn't fair, but criminals never did play by the rules. If they did, this poor creature wouldn't be here. Though she knew she wasn't one to talk after her rebellious streak. She was given no choice, so she grabbed a folded blanket, put the kitten inside, then ran down the hallways until she was in her room. Throwing her new black leather skirt over the camera, she let the cat out of the blanket and put her in the bottom drawer of her dresser. It was partially filled with a blanket and a sweater or two, making it the perfect place for the tired out animal to curl up and relax - as well as hide.

After that was taken care of, Nikita quickly stripped out of her clothing and put it at the bottom of the wash basket. Quickly dressing again, she threw a light blanket over her dresser so that the bottom drawer could stay open an inch or two without anyone being able to see the kitten inside.

Then, she took the skirt off of the camera. With any luck, they'd think she was just changing like always and wanted privacy. Usually, they allowed her that. She only hoped it would still go as smoothly this time.

Now, if only she could figure out what she was going to do about Michael?

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It was hard to conceal her nerves. Michael was hoovering over her as they studied for her test in the morning. He was so close - she was still practically trembling. Would he pick up on it? Know something wasn't quite right?

So far, he had stayed silent when not quizzing her. He hadn't said anything that he wouldn't normally. Maybe she could feign stress from today's meeting with Madeline? Anything, anything would do.

What is he was psychic though? It was a crazy thought, but you never know. He always seemed to know everything that was going on. Was that the secret to his sixth sense? She had wondered before. Now she worried.

"I think we're done here for today. You seem ready. Stay calm tomorrow, you'll do better."

Nikita stood up quickly, nearly knocking the chair down. Instead, her legs tangled and she fell to the floor in it's place.

Michael was swift and grabbed her, helping her up. But when she was fully standing, he didn't let go of her hand.

She smiled at him. "I'm okay, really. Thanks for the concern though." She tried to take her hand from his, but he only made his grip stronger on her. His eyes were trained on her shoulder.

Gently, he picked something off of her knit navy blue sweater that she had grabbed from the floor before heading to study here.

"Nikita...?" His accent was clipped thicker than usual by his french tongue, as sure sign something wasn't right.

She looked over and found two kitten hairs in his palm. Uh oh. She had at least hoped to get away with it until morning. Damn Michael's wickedly good senses!

"Nikita, those clothes are brand new. Why would they have fur on them?" It wasn't really a question. More so, an accusion.

She shrugged. "I don't know Michael. Maybe..." She was drawing blanks and drowning quicker than she could save herself. "Maybe..."

He didn't wait for an excuse. He walked at a brisk pace past her, out the door, then down the hall.

To her room.

All she could see was Billy, throwing her childhood kitten. The blood, the sounds. The cries.

She ran.

Down the halls, flying down the stairs, past Michael who tried to grab her but just missed. She ran in to her room, shut the drawer door, then sat in front of it like she was made of pure lead.

Michael barged in seconds later. Slapping a blocking device on the wall, he then stalked over to her. "We don't have much time. Nikita, give it to me."

She clenched her jaw and shook her head, her eyes cold as steel.

Michael had no time to lose. The blocking devices stopped being effective after two minutes. He couldn't stand here and play around.

"Now Nikita."

He heard a cat's meow as she shook her head again. After she heard it too, her lips pouted, her eyes began to water. "Please Michael? Please don't do it. Please let me have her!"

"Animals don't belong in Section."

"Either do I but I'm here!" she spat back.

He approached a step more, but she just melted farther in to the dresser. "Don't take her, Michael."

"If I don't, you'll be dead."

"I don't care. It's not like I'll ever see the light of morning again anyway. I won't let you take her."

He grabbed her arm, steadied his feet and pulled her up with all his might. She squirmed and put on all her dead weight so that he'd let go, but he didn't. "I won't let you die. Not after all I've done. Not before you have a chance to do something with your life. Give me the cat, Nikita."

Her face screwed up in an angry, furious way. Michael led her to the bed, sat her down. But she stood back up, tried to run to the drawer again. Grabbing her around the waist, Michael sat her firmly down again, then grabbed her shoulders, his face mere inches from hers. He was running out of time. He didn't have time to play with stubborn little girls.

"This kitten will not be yours. You're only hurting yourself and whoever else had this kitten. Maybe you don't value your life, but what about those of your friends?"

It wasn't fair. It was a low blow, but the truth. She knew it, so did they. All of them would be dead if she didn't stop.

"Saving the life of this cat means sacrificing yours. And I won't allow that." His voice wasn't caring. Instead, it was low and threatening. He was taking all choices away from her.

"If I must live, then when I got my own apartment one day, I want a cat. I want your promise that I can have a cat. Deal?"

Tick tock. Tick tock.

"Deal." He would have said anything to get that ball of fur out of Section quicker, even if he didn't mean it.

"I'll have your books sent back to you. Stay in and study until bedtime," he said as he wrapped the little kitten in a blanket, hoping it would stay quiet.

"Michael...don't kill her," was Nikita's last whisper of a plea.

"I won't," he promised, then put his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet. Grabbing the blocking device from the wall, he quickly left the room and headed outside.

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Michael was fuming.

Not at Nikita, this type of thing he expected from her. She was innocent and loved all others like her. Like the kitten, curled in a ball next to him.

No, he was angry at himself.

"Michael, why aren't you home yet? I have dinner on the table and it's getting cold."

"They kept me over today. I'll be home soon." He hung up the phone, gritting his teeth.

He couldn't believe he was doing this. He, who was Section's best. A cold blooded killer of the worst kind. An ex-terrorist.

And here he was, driving a half hour out of his way. To an animal shelter. To hand in a cat that could have been easily released back on the streets.

But no, instead he was giving it a chance to have a good home. To be taken in by a good family to be spoiled and pampered.

This little ball of fluff. What the hell was he doing? Was he out of his mind?

He made a U turn, pulled over the side of the road, then opened the door. "Out, cat," he demanded.

But the cat just looked up at him with those innocent eyes. Just like Nikita's, who he had promised to not kill this stupid thing. Leaving it on the side of the road would surely get it killed. It was too stupid to know how to avoid the highway.

"Damn it," he cursed, then shut the door. He turned his car back around and kept driving to that animal shelter, glad that no one would ever find out about his temporary moment of insanity.

XxXxX


	23. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"Uh oh, Michael's not looking too happy there. The brat must have done something stupid. Again."

Walter rolled his eyes at Birkoff's statement, but it was true. Michael not only looked upset, but worn out. Uneasy. And for Michael, showing any emotions, let alone those particular ones, was rare and not a good sign.

Not since his training had Walter seen the man publicly show any range of emotions outside of his common blank stare, but lately it was becoming habit. Something was up, and it wasn't good for his Sugar.

"I think I'll go check things out."

Birkoff's eyes bulged behind his tinted glasses. "Are you nuts? Michael will eat you alive! No one talks to him when he's in a good mood - let alone when he looks like that."

"No one but me. Seems that Nikita must have gotten herself in trouble and it's close to her next evaluation. I better find out and see if I can be of some assistance."

"You work in munitions - how can you be of assistance?" Birkoff called to the retreating form. Well, he tried to stop him. His conscious was clear.

"Hey there Michael, everything all right?" Walter asked as he approached the poor mentor, who was leaning against the wall near his office, staring in to space.

Michael stared at him for a moment, then looked away again. "Yes."

"How's Nikita doing? Is she ready for evaluation?" Walter pressed.

"...Almost."

A lie, clearly. So that was the bother. She wasn't ready. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No." Well, he never was much of a talker.

Clearly uncomfortable by the heavy strain of the situation, Walter decided to let this one go. "Well let me know if there's something I can do. My schedule's open for giving Nikita lessons." Not really, but he'd make time.

Michael looked back at Walter with a nod. "Thank you."

"Anytime, amigo."

Birkoff looked impressed that his friend came back unscratched. "How'd it go?"

"Well, you know," Walter said with a half shrug, leaning against the counter. "Same old, same old. Michael doesn't talk, I offer help, Michael doesn't admit he needs it, no further improvement happens..."

"So why'd you go over there if you knew it wouldn't change anything?"

Walter smiled, tapping his finger on the side of his head. "Planting seeds, my friend. It's all about planting seeds and waiting to reap the rewards."

Birkoff snorted. "Having to be forced in helping Nikita is more like a hellish nightmare, rather than a reward."

The elder wrapped his arm around the computer tech. "One day, you'll grow up and learn to appreciate women like Nikita. You'll start getting these strange feelings...then you'll learn to live for them. And then-"

"I'm not five, Walter. But I'm not an idiot either. Nikita's nothing but trouble. She won't last here."

"She will if I have anything to do with it."

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Michael paced back and forth, watching as Nikita went at the punching bag. She was quickly tiring, putting her all in to the task at hand, but her endurance just wasn't lasting long enough.

Finally, with one last feeble blow to the bag, she gasped for air, wheezed a few times, then slammed her back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting. After a moment, she flicked her gaze up to meet his, a frown on her lips. "I don't think I can do this, Michael."

He walked over to still the punching bag, still swinging wildly in all directions. "If you believe you can, then you can," he said simply, no longer looking at her.

"If I believe that I can get through the next two years, with lessons only getting harder when I can't even handle the level they're at, I can?" she said doubtfully, wiping her sleeve across her damp forehead.

"With work and determination, yes."

"I'm starting to lose faith in your words." She wheezed again.

Michael handed her a bottle of water. "You're not thinking with the right mindset," he said after a few moments paused, filled with the sound of Nikita sputtering over drinking too fast. "You're thinking like a struggling recruit."

"I _am_ a struggling recruit," she felt the need to point out.

"That's why you're falling behind. You need to think like an operative. You need to think that you can overcome. That you can train and learn." He crouched down in front of her at eye level. "You need to know that you can pass this and not die after all your hard efforts."

She searched him for a moment. Searched the depth of his green eyes, the emotional barriar that laid there, not allowing her access inside. Still, she knew what he said, he meant.

"And how do I start thinking like an operative?"

He stood up, offering a hand and helping to her to her feet as well. He put the punching bag between his hands, standing behind it and looking at her from the side. "Start by thinking 'I can'."

Simple enough, every child knew the power of the words 'I think I can'. Apparently, Michael believed in them as well. And that was good enough for her.

Forming her hands in to fists once more, she attacked.

_I think I can. I think I can._

_I sure hope to hell I can._

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Nikita rocked back and forth on her bed, chewing at the stubble of thumb nail. She hadn't slept all night. She wondered if Michael had faired better.

Today was her second evaluation. Michael had given her a run down of all she'd learn this month. On list, it seemed to be enough. But in her blank mind, she felt she hadn't learned anything. She simply wasn't ready yet. But if not now, when? She'd never be ready, she knew that.

But there was no 'getting it over with', that great rush of relief that came after finishing something challanging. There was no finishing. In three months, there'd be another evaluation. Again, three months after that. Over and over again, until she was either an operative or dead.

"I was told you haven't eaten yet."

Nikita whipped her head to the door, seeing Michael standing in the door way. She hadn't even heard him come in. Great, just the confidence boost she needed - she couldn't even pay attention enough to hear when someone walked in to her room.

"I'm not feeling so well," she replied, feeling even more downcast than before.

"You need your strength." He disappeared in to the hall for a moment, then came back with a tray that he laid on her bed. A platter of scrambled eggs, an apple, toast and orange juice.

She pushed it away. "Can't eat. Too nervous." Her stomach rumbled in a mixture of those frantic nerves, and the crave of the smell of food.

"No you're not. Operatives never get nervous," he said solemnly, inching the tray closer again.

She pushed it back with the tip of her bare toe, her toe nails painted a hot red. Michael didn't notice. "Well I'm a recruit under judgement. And I _am_ nervous."

He let the tray go, looking at it with disregard. "I thought we were thinking like Operatives?"

She snorted. He used that line alot in the last few days, whenever a bit of doubt or negativity sprang from her lips. "Well I'm trying to but you keep telling me that operatives don't think the way I do so that plan isn't going very good!"

He closed his eyes. "Very well, Nikita. Not very good."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing the apple. "Oh sure - chide me now while I'm nervous enough as it is. Very good, very well - what does it matter at this point?"

She could see Michael getting angry, steaming below the collar. He was trying to control it for her case, but he was starting to lose that control. He swallowed, then ran a hand through his reddish brown hair. She watched him down it, the same as always. There was almost a rhythmic way about how his skilled fingers sent the waves of auburn to caress his hand and shine in the glimmer of light from her lamp. "You don't want to die, do you Nikita?"

She shook her head. At least that question was a no brainer. "Not especially."

"Then I need you to stop arguing with me. I know you're scared, but you have to be calm. Confident. Sure of yourself. Especially today."

She looked him up and down. The picture of serenity on the outside, a hint of anguish or rage carefully kept locked inside. "Like you?"

He thought for a moment, silent and unmoving. Then he dismissed the question. "Finish eating. Study over your books. Practice your moves, exercise. That's why all this equipment is in here. I'll come back at noon to take you to the evaluation."

Always the one to have the last say in everything, he pushed the tray up close to her, then left the room, leaving her to dwell on his words and her worry for six more hours.

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"Calm down." It was softly spoken, but also a firm order.

Nikita gripped the wall, taking deep breaths. "I'm scared."

"You'll be fine. We're late, we have to go."

She looked over her shoulder, taking in every detail of her room, the reflection of her life here in Section. Just in case-

"Don't look back." Michael told her, taking her arm in his grip. "You'll see it tonight."

She's see it tonight, if she passed this evaluation. If she didn't, this room would be cleared out within the hour. She let out a shuddering breath.

"You'll be fine," Michael repeated firmly. She looked over at him. Was he reassurring her...or himself?

He kept his hand on her arm as they walked down the hallway, up the stairs. She felt like a prisoner, walking to her execution. When she shivered, his hand dropped. They walked the rest of the way without touching or speaking. Michael stared straight ahead, Nikita watched as some people she was familiar with smiled at her, wished her good luck, or just gave her a wink and a thumb's up. They seemed quite confident in her. Now, if only she could stop shaking so.

"You know what you have to do," Michael said, noting her trembling form.

She nodded, her stomach flipping. She was too nervous to speak anymore.

The reached the hall that held the evaluation room. This was it.

Nikita started to walk towards it, feeling already out of breath, but Michael grabbed her arm again, making them face close to each other.

"You'll make it through. Do your best. I'll be here when you're done," he promised, trying to steady her. It was a sweet gesture, but did little to calm her. She still had to go through the evaluation before coming back to him. If she did at all.

Nodding, she took a deep breath, opening the door to the fateful room. When she got inside, she forgot to exhale.

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"...Nikita Wirth. Take a seat," said the man behind the desk, clicking away at a keyboard, the computer screen turned away from the entering recruit.

She sat in a straight back chair that was less than comfortable, staring at this man she'd never seen before. Debating on whether she should be relieved that it wasn't the last evaluator and worrying if this new guy would be worse than the last, she decided to stay silent until spoken to.

"This is your sixth month here, correct?" he asked, his voice scratchy.

She nodded. "It is, sir." Perhaps the 'sir' was laying it on a bit thick, but she wasn't taking any chances today. Besides, what man didn't like respect?

The man's stern eyes stayed on the computer, his mouth in a straight line. Not an easily amused person, so it seemed.

"How have you found your stay so far? Have you been treated fairly? Think you're progressing smoothly in to our ways?"

This certainly wasn't in the last evaluation. In fact, it felt a little too much like Madeline's session. Just, without the smiling Madeline and fine looking decor. "Yes, sir."

"Good. So you think you're ready for today?"

A trick question, if she ever heard one. She tried to avoid a bad habit like biting her nails or tapping her foot in her nervousness - that was no no rule number one in Michael's book for any day of the week, but doubly for evaluations.

As the minutes ticked away, counted on his watch, Michael grew more and more uneasy. Instead of staying right outside the door like last time, he decided to head over to Systems. He found Birkoff there, sneaking fist fulls of some kind of sugary cereal from his desk drawer.

It never took long for an operative to notice his presence, and Birkoff was soon sitting straight in his chair, spilling only a few pieces of his food on the floor in his surprise. "M-michael?" The poor teenager seemed to nearly wet his pants every time Michael simply got near.

"Call Operations. Tell him I wish to speak with him."

"Oh, n-no can do. He's not available."

Not available? "Why not?"

Birkoff looked up in surprise. "Didn't you know? He's evaluating Nikita."

Carefully masking his surprise, Michael hurried back to the hall, taking long strides instead of making his worry known by running. After all, it was too late to do anything about it. The only thing that would be there to greet him when he got back to the hall would be a steel grey door, firmly shut. If it opened, the evaluation would be discredited, for whatever the reason. And the make up evaluation would be doubly hard.

Operations was in there with Nikita, probably clawing her to pieces. And the only thing he was left to yell his frustations to was that omnious door.

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Nikita came out of the room not much different than when she went in. She had a shaky smile on her lips now though, but the shakiness didn't stop just there. Her fingers still trembled from left over nerves when he took her hand in his.

"Are you alright?" he asked, genuinely not sure if she would be, knowing who she'd seen. He'd sent her in to the lion's den. Had she come back unscathed?

"Fine," spoken without her voice hitching. A good sign, unless she was starting to pick up on his own traits.

He was just about to ask her if she'd like to have some tea and sandwhich for lunch, when she remembered something. "Oh, he wants to talk to you."

Alarm bells rang inside his head, but his emotionless facade remained in tact. "Did he say why?"

She shrugged. "Is he really Operations?"

Michael nodded. "He is. Go back to your room. Take some downtime. I'll come find you when I'm finished here."

Nikita agreed, obviously not in the mood to argue. Michael watched her go, the straightened his form, preparing to act like he was calm and relaxed.

Then he entered the lion's den himself, feeling, very deep down on the inside, like a cowardly lamb to be sacrificed. Why did Operations want to see him so soon? It wasn't normal, nor a good sign.

When he entered, Operations was in none too good of a mood. "Sit, Michael." He'd been reduced to nothing more than the recruit he trained.

"I assume you know why I've asked to see you," the elder man said gravely.

Michael shook his head. "I don't."

A greying eyebrow perked. "You don't? So you think I remain clueless to your secrets?"

Michael stiffened. "I don't have secrets." _At least, none that you should be aware of._

A rough laugh, more like a bark, sounded from the older man's throat. A sound of distaste, of disgust. "You think you've been fooling me? That I don't know about the crazy hair, the backtalk, the stealing, the breaking and entering? You think that's all been going right over my head? You're good Michael, but you're not that good."

He hadn't mentioned when she snuck out of Section that night to get the tattoo. Or it's removal. He hadn't found out about the cat either. So far, Nikita was still alive. But if the tone of Operation's voice was of any evidence, Nikita may not live throughout the night if Michael didn't find a way to balance the scale.

"Sir, she had just turned nineteen before we took her. She's younger than most of the recruits we take. She's spent her whole adolecence on the streets, without any rules, restrictions or guidance. This is all new to her. I just think she needs a little more time than the average operative. And has only been six months."

Operations looked slightly taken aback, if not surprised. "Michael, this is not a foster care system for children. This is Section one, if you have yet to notice. We do not cater around rebellious teenagers. Either they obey, or they get cancelled."

Michael nodded. It was a rule he knew very well. "I understand, Sir. But if you'd-"

"Six months is a very long time to still not obeying all the rules and being without much skill." The senior interrupted. "But it's a very short time for you to already have grown so attached to your material. Just a word of advice to you...well, I would distance yourself."

Distance himself? Michael silently scoffed at the idea. If he got anymore distant from Nikita, he'd be teaching her attack moves while she was in the Section gym and he stood in China!

"Did she pass?" was all he decided to say. Denying that Nikita did all that Operations had mentioned would be fruitless - obviously, he knew these things to be a fact. And trying to defend her honor would only get them both in to trouble and start suspicions that would be best to not start.

Operations' cold blue eyes stared back him, wordlessly. The moment seemed to stretch beyond minutes in the thick, stress filled silence. "She passed...this time. But Michael, you're going to have to pull the reigns in more if you wish to keep her under your wing. You have to break her spirit before she'll be willing to learn. You went through this, you know the precedure - you know what to do. Delaying it will only make it worse on the both of you."

Michael stood up. "Is that all?"

Operations fell in to silence, mainly to create an uncomfortable feeling for the mentor, who stood as emotionless and blank as ever.

"Yes, that's all."

Michael left, walking at a normal pace, but feeling like running inside. So consumed with his thoughts, he forgot all about his promise to Nikita and returned directly to his office.

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	24. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

_A/N: I'm sooo sorry I haven't kept up on this. I've been distracted with another story lately. But thanks to DoctorMoon, who's many reviews reminded me of this story and wanting to keep writing._

_Everyone else, thanks alot for still sticking with me!_

XxxX

As accustomed to evaluations, after Nikita passed hers, it was time for Michael's.

He had made the mistake of going home. Now it was pacing throughout the living room, his sleeping wife and son in the rooms above his head.

Operations knew too much, and he wasn't very satisfied with what he had seen.

And now he expected Michael to 'break' Nikita. It's what Jurgen had done to him from day one. It's what most of the old mentors did, at least those with successful operatives.

He closed his eyes, sitting on the sofa. Most of those operatives were good. They didn't die in the field, they didn't make mistakes. They were complete machines, perfectly made for Section.

Until they were found hanging from rafters or used their own gun against themselves.

Though he tried to prevent it, Michael could see Nikita's face in both accounts and couldn't bare the result.

And yet, it did seem like it needed to be done. Nikita was still trying to pretend she was on the outside, still had freewill, still could do what she pleased without dire concenquenses. She was very wrong and she needed to be shown so in ways he hadn't even begun.

"Michael?" The sweet, musical voice of his wife drifted down the stairs to him. "Are you ill?"

_Yes._ He whispered to the inside of his skull. If he wasn't, he was quite sure he was going to be. Could training this street rat really be the hardest mission he's ever been assigned to?

It didn't seem likely, but it was proving so.

"I'll be right up," he replied to the innocence on the stairs.

An innocence, just like his material.

At least he had been a terrorist before he got to Section. Cold, angry, heartless. Nothing mattered to him anymore, he was already near emotionless. But Nikita, oh, she was so different. Things he had went through and survived would shatter her on the first round. He knew he had to shield her from those things if he was going to keep her alive.

How to balance shielding her and exposing her at the same time?

Knowing he couldn't answer his own question, he headed up the stairs to a restless night of tossing and turning in bed.

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Nikita moaned, trying to slap away the sounds she heard around her. They didn't cease, and instead she was forced in to consciousness.

Prying one eye open, she saw her recruit friends standing around her. "What are you doing here?" she mumbled against her pillow.

"Listening to you talk. Gosh, you're so funny when you sleep!"

Nikita looked at each face to the other. "What?"

"You talk in your sleep, silly. Didn't you know that?"

No, actually she didn't. No one had ever paid attention to her enough to overhear and tell her. "What do I say?"

"About Michael. Training. You complain alot, but you usually have a smile on when talking about your mentor. And then some jumbled stuff that we figure is from your street life. It's quite fascinating, really."

Nikita just hoped that Michael didn't know. What would he think if he knew she had yet another bad habit to overcome? One that was potentially dangerous if she ever was caught by terrorists. "Does anyone else know?"

"Doubt it. I think you're safe so far."

So far. That didn't sound very permanete at all.

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"What happens when operatives talk in their sleep?"

"They don't."

The question had been directed to Walter, but it was Birkoff who replied to the trainee.

"You mean they never had a recruit that talked in their sleep?"

"Oh no, they had plenty."

Had. No operatives talked in their sleep. Nikita looked to Walter. "They...cancel them?"

"Only if they'e not trained out of it." Walter offered in comfort. It didn't work.

"That's perfect," Birkoff laughed."You're the worst living poorly skilled recruit - and now you talk in your sleep! You really are priceless, trainee."

Walter slapped his arm, but Birkoff just shrugged and walked off. "Don't worry about what he said. Most people do a lot of strange things in their sleep. Birkoff is just jealous because he doesn't sleep at all. He's the worst - or best - insomiac this place has ever seen."

Nikita pushed herself up to the counter for a seat. "Others have sleeping problems? Besides me and Birk?"

"Oh yeah. Mostly just sleepwalking, sleep attacking, insomiacs and those with the nightmares. No one is really that bad to cause attention, obviously. With...the exception of one person."

Nikita leaned in to his heavy pause. "Who?"

"Your mentor Michael. Suffers greatly from vivid nightmares."

"So you hear or actually witnessed?"

Walter scratched the back of his neck, looking to the far end of this shop. "I've witnessed it once. Hell of a thing, seeing that."

"Seeing what?" Nikita was about to jump off the counter and could within inches to Walter, as if that could make it come out of him quicker.

"A man under great pain and torture, with no way to save him." Walter's voice, for the first time since she'd known him, turned perfectly grave.

"What are his nightmares about?" It was a question that took a moment's thought. At this point, she wasn't sure if she actually did want to know. Would she end up like that one day?

"I don't know. Michael's been through a lot. He'll never tell you about what he suffered through - it's private and he doesn't like to air out his dirty laundry, so to speak. What he's witnessed, he keeps tucked deep down. At night, it comes back to haunt him because it can't get out any other way."

Nikita knew she might be in serious trouble with her new found knowledge of her sleeping habits, but now she was only concerned about her mentor's. It saddened her to know what operatives had to go through, things she couldn't yet imagine. But it hurt her to know that this man she knew well enough was too wounded to trust anyone with his hurts.

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"I had an interesting dicussion with Walter and Birkoff today," Michael said, walking in to Nikita's little room unannounced. "Then Madeline approached me and repeated what I just heard."

Nikita, sitting in the middle of the bed, abandoned her fashion magazine, tucking her legs beneath her. "So you had a busy day?" she asked innocently, tilting her head to the side.

"You talk in your sleep. Were you aware of this before today?"

She shook her head. "No, just this morning. What does it mean?"

"Nothing." He walked further in to the room, looking around casualy. "It should go away when I teach you how to be a light sleeper. We'll worry about it more if that isn't the case."

"What did Operations say yesterday?" She'd been wanting to ask him since the moment her door cracked open, but slowly she was learning patience.

"You need to be more careful in your mischief. He knows about the minor details and he's not happy."

She bit her lip. Since she was still here in the morning, she had figured she was still alive for another three months. Now she wasn't so sure. "I did pass, didn't I?"

"Barely, but yes." Absentmindedly, He fingered a lacy shawl that hung from the top of her dresser.

"Why didn't you come see me last night? You promised."

"I was busy, I didn't have time." His voice was emotionless. No apologizes, no real excuses or pardons. "I'm busy now, I just wanted to check in on you. Our lessons are being moved until tonight. I suggest you sleep during the day as much as you can. Don't forget to study." Apparently, her mentor didn't list the reasons of his curious demands either.

Before she could question him about their night lessons, he was out the door.

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After an intense workout, then a few rounds in the dojo, both Nikita and Michael, who hadn't slept the night before, were long past ready to go to bed. Not possible though, since Nikita had a quiz in Critical Reading in the morning.

Michael rubbed at his eyes, making the friction between them and his eyelids to feel like scratchy sandpaper. Finally, his young recruit pushed the paper over to him.

"Is it correct?" she asked through a big yawn.

He had the urge to tell her he didn't care and just collapse in his chair and call it a night. Then he remembered the steel blue eyes of Operations, who was certainly looking for any reason to say that Michael had finally failed - and then end the life of his trainee.

So instead of indulging the urge, he handed her another paper.

"But this is Critical Reading in...French! I can't do this, it'll take all night."

Michael supressed a groan as he looked at the clock, just striking midnight. "Get working, then," he replied, looking down at the words on her paper that moved back and forth in his sight. Trying to grade this would take just as long as her doing the assignment in a language she still barely understood.

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Nikita stirred, hearing noises around her that she wished would stop. Trying a new position, she suddenly felt herself falling - and then landing on a hard floor.

The sleepiness wore off quickly as she realized she was in a strange place, with strange noises. Slowly, her surroundings started to make sense.

She was on the floor of Michael's office, now between the chair she had been sleeping on and the desk she had hit her head with.

Something from that desk went crashing to the floor, but it wasn't caused by her.

Pulling herself up, Nikita peeked over the desk to see Michael, thrashing about precariously but not taking a fall like she had. His arms were hoovinging over his head that he turned wildly side to side, as if he was trying to protect himself. His voice was rough and scratchy, yelling out words that she couldn't quite make out.

His position changed as he threw punches in to the air, breathing heavily through his clenched, bared teeth.

The words of Walter came back to her now. _"Your mentor Michael. Suffers greatly from vivid nightmares...hell of a thing, seeing that."_

So Michael was having another nightmare. She slowly stood, ready to wake him from the torture that only he was able to feel. Just when she was trying to figure out how to reach him without getting socked in the eye, he went limp.

Backing away, Nikita figured that it was over. And that's when Michael started to shake his head, as if answering no instead of trying to escape something. "No...no...no..." he whispered, his voice filled with sadness and tears.

His tone changed until he was shouting loud enough to hurt her ears as she stood close by. "No! No! I won't let you, no!"

"Michael!" The name ripped from her throat unplanned. He seemed to be having an attack on his painful memories and it was tearing her apart to witness it as much as it seemed he was hurting from reliving it.

He didn't hear. He continued in his personal assult, leaving her nearby and helpless.

"Michael? Michael, wake up. You're having a bad dream...Michael?"

No response.

With struggle, she pulled his chair away from his desk and close to the wall. Then she slipped between the space she created, standing before the man that usually had it so together, now looking like he was falling apart. Did this happen often? Every night?

Thanks to her trainer's teaching, she was able to block his occasional throwing arm and kicking leg. Finally, leaning against the chair for support, she loomed over her mentor, holding his wrists in her tight grasp and shaking them. "Michael!"

His eyes jolted awake and before she knew it, Nikita was laying flat on her back, the breath knocked out of her. Mental note: never again sneak up on Michael while sleeping, even if you're shouting at him the entire way.

Michael was leaning over her within seconds. "Are you hurt?"

She tried to reply verbally, but ended up just wheezing.

Quickly going over any spots that he could have caused damage with, he assessed that she wasn't hurt badly, then helped to scrape her off the floor and in to his comfortable chair. "Why did you do that? Waking me up like that."

She cleared her throat, took a few deep breaths and coughs in hopes for her verbal powers to come back. "You were having a...a nightmare." Her voice was raspy and harsh. "I must have fallen asleep while doing the paperwork. You were yelling and you woke me up. You looked like you were in pain so I tried to return the favor."

Michael took a step back before leaving his desk area to walk around his little office. "Don't wake me when I'm sleeping unless it's an emergency. And prepare to end up on the floor again if you do."

She frowned. "You don't have many long time girlfriends, huh?"

He glared at her, but ignored the comment. "Get to bed. Your classes start in two hours."

He didn't seem like he was in the talking mood, so she stood and left his little place without another word. She wasn't sure if she was made at him for being upset at her when she was trying to help or piting him for what he had just went through. So instead of creating a situation, she did as she was told and hurried off to her room. She was in need of those extra two hours.

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	25. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"You're finished for today," An unusually tired looking Michael said, sinking in to a nearby bench. He was clearly worn out. But Nikita didn't pride herself in thinking that she had done that with her fighting tactics. No, today she knew better.

Night terrors wore him out. Left him restless until day, when he'd be sleepy again.

She didn't dare bring up the night before to him. She knew that his night time affairs were none of her business and she had witnessed something that she shouldn't have. Something he most likely wasn't comfortable with her knowing.

In reaction, she had been on her best behavior. Taken care to do everything he asked right.

Picking up her bag with extra clothes in it and throwing a towel on to her shoulder, she wiped her forehead with the end, then headed out of the gym.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"To the showers," She replied, pointing with her hand that she clearly needed one after a battle with him.

"The recruit showers aren't working today." She had a feeling she knew why. Her friends hadn't had much mischief lately, it was their due time. "Use the woman operative's. It's down the hall to the left. Ask Walter if you can't find it, I'm sure he knows where it is."

She wasn't sure what stunned her more. The tired, careless tone he carried in his voice or the fact that he had just made a joke. A joke!

"Okay," She said simply, then changed her direction, refraining from telling him to go get some sleep so he could return to normal. She didn't like having to make sure her tone was sweet or walking on eggshells to be careful of what she did to him. For normal day to day activities, she rathered the cold, hard Michael that she didn't mind throwing a quick punch to or a swift kick.

This Michael tended to frighten her with his light manner.

Entering the women's shower room, which she had thankfully found without having to ask Walter, she heard the voices of a few operatives.

"He looks upset today."

"But it only makes him look more gorgeous! I just want to hold him in my arms and make all of his hurt go away."

"I'd do more than just hold him!"

"I just saw him in the gym, sweaty in his grey muscle shirt. I nearly fainted, I swear."

Michael had on a grey muscle shirt, along with being upset. Apparently Michael had a whole fanbase in here that he didn't even know about. Well, maybe you do learn something every day. Especially when Nikita had thought everyone in Section disliked her mentor, besides Walter.

Clearing her throat, she walked through the opening and towards the shower.

"Hey, that's his recruit!"

"She's the trainee!"

A chorus of excited and jealous voices rose in squeals.

"Hey you, come over here!"

Nikita turned around. Had she attended more than a few months of high school, she would have related that to such as situation as this. "Me?"

"Yeah. Nikita, right? Michael Samuelle is your mentor?" The last name rolled off of the woman's tongue like it was a delicious dessert.

"Yes. Why?"

"Why?" cried the bunch of women, ranging in age anywhere from a little older than her to somewhere in their early thirties.

"Because he's only the most amazing man I have ever laid eyes on - and as a former army brat, I've lived in _a lot_ of places. Trust me, it doesn't get better," one woman informed wisely.

"What's it like to wrestle with him?" another asked.

Nikita was tempted to show her the long bruises she had on her back from where he had crashed her back in to the floor the night before. "It hurts. A lot."

Somehow, that only made their smiles grow. "Does he tutor you? I saw him in his office bent over some school books, looking like he was brushing up on the subjects. Was that all for you?"

Nikita shrugged. "Maybe. He does help me study. He's a very good teacher."

"Do you know why he's upset today? He looks...off."

This was the moment she could expose his secret that seemingly few only knew. But no matter what Michael had done to her so far, they had bonded over the last six months. He had saved her life on more than one rebellious occasion. Seeing that not many people had ever cared enough to give her more than a passing glance, it wasn't something she took lightly. "I think he's just tired. I had a quiz today, he stayed up late helping me study."

At least one female looked like she was in serious danger of swooning to the floor. "I wish I were so lucky as to have had him as a mentor."

"I missed all the good stuff. Being trained ten years ago was so lame. And I had some old guy."

Nikita smiled and nodded politely at their complaints, then tried to tiptoe away in to the showers. It was alright, talking about Michael, but this was odd. She wasn't fond of speaking about him in such a strange way. He was her teacher. Her protector. The man with the sensitivity to care enough about her to keep her alive, for whatever reason, and have night terrors. But before she took two steps, she stopped.

"Did you hear that it's his birthday next week?"

She froze. How did it pass her that Michael even had a birthday? It never occured to her that people like him had parties and celebrated, let alone have such an event.

"Yeah, Missy Peterson found out a few months back when she was sleeping with that level five op. What was his name?"

"Who cares? They're both gone now and Michael's here. With a birthday. You know, he gets better looking every year. He ages well, don't you think?"

"And not many people can say that, especially when they're under so much stress every day like you are here."

"When is his birthday?" This one came from Nikita herself, who couldn't resist.

"On Friday. He doesn't celebrate birthdays - in fact, only high ops are allowed to know the date. Which is why it's so cool that we know this year! Not that we can do anything about it."

But that didn't mean _she_ couldn't herself. Nikita hurried to a shower stall and shut the door, images of birthday parties that she never had dancing in her head.

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	26. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"What's the problem now, Niki-ta?" Michael asked, his voice clipped with irritation.

"Have I ever mentioned that I'm not fond of heights?"

_Only about fifty times in the last ten minutes. _"Keep going."

Though he wasn't much on words, he made a show of gripping the bunjee line tighter for her, so she'd feel safe.

She was about fifteen feet in the air, her feet and hands glued to the tiny rocks that jutted out of the sixty foot wall. And she had to climb to the top.

Swallowing, she bent her legs and found her harness grip her tightly. Michael had her.

"Put your leg up on that little rock to your left. Then use the bend of that leg to help you jump to the next level and grasp your hands on the rocks above you," he instructed, his voice all serious. "Remember, push up with your legs, not your arms."

She could never remember that rule. No wonder her arms felt like they were going to fall off.

Doing as she was told, she relocated her foot on to the rock he had pointed out, took a deep breath, then used that leg to perpell her upwards. The rope immediately tightened, holding her there as she grasped for any rock she could reach before she slammed in to the hard wall - face first.

She looked down at him. His strong hands gripped the rope firmly. His face stared back at her with blank emotion. His body, normally big and intimidating, started to look small. Nearly twenty feet in the air now.

"Keep going." It was his saying of the day, it seemed. He kept saying it with the same tone.

She followed his last instructions. Move foot up, use newly bent leg to jump and grab more ill-suited small rocks. She attempted it for a third time when her bent leg suddenly lost it's footing. She screamed, slammed in to the wall, then started to fall backwards. "Michael!"

"Calm down," he barked. "I still have you."

She soothed her racing heartbeat as much as possible, then looked down. True to his words, he stood firmly, the muscles in his arms bulging from supporting her full weight.

She clambered back on to the wall, releasing her weight from his arms.

"Try again," he told her. So she did.

It was slow progress, but she only slipped two more times before her fingertips touched the dusty top of the wall. "I made it," she shrieked.

"Good. Now rapple down."

Huh? She knew better by now than to look in his direction. "What do you mean?" She didn't want to know, she truly didn't, but she also didn't want to be stuck up here. Or, even worse, allow his strength to tire and let her slip to the ground. If she fell head first, she seriously doubted the thin mat on the floor would make any kind of difference.

"Put your feet in front of you. Bounce outwards. I'm going to lower you down."

So basically, he wanted her to willingly lean back so that she could slip and break her neck. Maybe he really didn't like having her around anymore and he was using this as an excuse to kill her off.

Maybe others did know about his secret night terrors. They just weren't alive anymore because he did away with them before they could utter a word.

"Nikita? Down," he called her back to the present.

"Have I mentioned I'm scared of heights?"

"Down!"

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms around the cord in front of her, then started to bounce back and forth against the wall.

"More."

She grunted, letting her legs porpell her backwards even farther as she fell slowly, gracefully, in the air by skilled hands in control. Finally, her bottom hit the soft padding of the mat with a dull thud. She allowed herself to gently fall back, gratefull to be on safe ground again.

Michael's head appeared over her, upside down in her position. "You're not afraid of heights," he stated simply.

She blinked a few times in confusement. Hadn't she said it enough today? "Yes I am."

"No, you're not. You're not afraid of anything. If you are, harsh punishment will be enforced to break you out of your fears. Do you want that?"

"No." Finally, a question that had an easy answer!

"Then you're not scared, are you?"

"...No?"

If he was a man without so much control, he would have rolled his eyes and walked away, hopeless. Instead, he offered a hand to help her up, then taught her how to get out of her harness. "We'll work on it," he promised. At least she had reached the top. It was a start, if the very least.

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"So let me guess, this is 'terrorize your material week' here at good old Hell Hole Central?"

Michael closed his eyes, willing to stay calm. "It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" his trainee shrieked. "I'm going to die! Have I mentioned-"

"Nikita!" Yes, she had mentioned she was scared of heights. Many, many times. Many. "You won't die. Just listen to me-"

"My hand is cramping! I can't do this!"

He looked up at Nikita, who was balancing on a thin rope, her harness attached to another rope that held her up if she slipped. It was seventy feet above him, but he could still see her knees wobbling wildly. "Calm down. Flex your hand, get the muscles to respond. When it starts working properly again, unattach your harness from that rope and reattach to the next."

She gasped, grabbing on to the rope overhead. "What if I fall while not attached?" Now her whole body was trembling out of control. "My hand still isn't working!" She let out another scream as her foot slipped off the wire.

So taking her to a high ropes course might not have been the wisest, before letting her master the rock climb. "There's no rush." He checked the clock on the wall. They had forty five minutes until her next lesson with Walter in the shooting gallery. "Tell me a story," he said randomly, before he had time to think over what he was offering.

Was it his imagination or did she completely stop shaking for a moment in her surprise? "What do you mean?"

"Distraction works wonders on the mind," he explained. "Tell me a story."

"About?"

Getting her to talk was never so hard. "Anything. What's your favorite food?" If he was ever unsure that he needed to start sleeping more, he was no longer.

She grinned as her arms snaked up the rope, gripping hard. "Ice cream."

"...What kind?"

"Any. Well, Rocky Road always made my hard days feel better." Her eyes started to go out of focus as a memory pulled hard on her consciousness.

For whatever reason, Michael was curious and wanted to know. "What is it?"

She shrugged, as best as she could while so strung up. Figuratively and literally. "I once knew a boy. He was about ten or so, I was younger. His dad owned an ice cream shop. One day a bunch of kids were chasing me, trying to beat me up. Again. I took refuge in the ice cream shop and the boy scared the rest of the kids away, then gave me ice cream. Rocky Road, since he thought that was fitting. We talked, became friends. Every Friday night at eight o'clock - the only time I could sneak away each night - I'd go down to the ice cream shop and he'd wait for me on the corner outside it." She opened her hand and closed it, then repeated before clamping it back on the rope. "One night, Kane - my mother's then boyfriend - wouldn't let me out of the house. Said he thought I was sneaking out every night at the same time to get in to...bad things. I couldn't get out to tell Danny - the boy. He waited for me, on that corner in the bad side of town. Waiting for me to show when I couldn't." She fell silent, stepping closer to the corner and reaching out for the next claw lock, but it slipped out of her hand. She hadn't fallen quiet from consentration.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "I found out in the morning that a gang had gotten in a fight across the street by that corner. A wayward bullet found it's way..." She shook her head, unlatching her rope lock and reattaching it to the next. "When I went to the ice cream shop the next morning to tell him why I didn't show, he wasn't there. I asked his dad where Danny was." She closed her eyes, feeling the rope beneath her feet. "He told me my only friend was dead. I never ate another bowl of ice cream after that."

"Lost your taste for it?"

"No. Just didn't have anyone to get me any. I couldn't afford to buy it, no one ever offered. Danny was the last person who bothered. Guess I'll never have it now - ice cream isn't allowed for recruits. All the sugar and all."

By the time her words were out, she was at her next checkpoint and half way through the overall. Another story like that and she'd be through completely. "Don't even think about it. I'm not going to go the whole way no matter what story you try to pull out of me. I'm climbing down here."

"Stay up," he ordered, but she was already shimmying her way down the ladder that was built in to the pillar.

"I like down best, but thanks for offering to watch," she said with a cute little smile, warding off any bad memories that she had yanked from the dark spaces of her past.

He let her go. She had improved and obviously, she had faced her fear, finding motivation when she was upset.

He'd remember that. It might come in handy later on.

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Friday came around quickly. Though it had been tough to get through the week, with sparring, high ropes, rock climbs and various other physically challenging events, this day relieved Nikita of the stress.

Today was Michael's birthday.

Other than being on her best behavior, there was little she could do to mark the occasion. Paper was a rare item, let alone being able to find some for a card. Even if she did manage, where's the markers, the pens, anything? The only paper around here were for print offs.

And that was just the worry about a card. A hope for a cake was completely out of the question.

But, as usual to the girl who had spent her life coming up with ingenius ways to stay alive, she managed to figure out something, even if it wasn't very good. It was all she had.

Michael had skipped dinner to make sure Nikita had been thoroughly worn out after a sparring session. This time, he had brought her to a new gym, further down, used by operatives that battled against each other for practice. He allowed the lesser level one operatives to fight against her, interrupting if it got too heavy or if the technic was wrong.

She had seen that he skipped lunch as well, for she had left him in his office just to return to him sitting in the same position.

The man was obviously dedicated to his work, no matter what day it was. Also, it seemed he wasn't much for holidays.

When she was released from her duties for the day, he left her to return to the office. Not sure if he was planning to leave early, she hurried to gather the only thing she had for his birthday.

"What's this?" he asked, staring at it like it may blow up. Well, to give him credit, there was a fifty - fifty chance it could.

"It's a biscuit. I saved it for you from lunch. They didn't have any good stuff today, so I had to make do. Now hurry and blow out the candle. I stole it from Walter's and I'm not really sure what happens when it gets down to that line." About half way down the pink and white striped thin candle was a black, ominious looking line.

He looked as if he wasn't sure if he sound be shocked, angry or pleased. So he seemed to be all at once. He didn't blow out the candle, and the fire was getting close.

"Really Michael, I'm not sure what's gonna happen with that thing. Blow it out, unless you'd like me to sing you Happy Birthday?"

The candle flame was quickly blown out. "Thank you," he finally managed.

She grinned proudly. "You're welcome. Happy Birthday, Michael."

Allowing him a break as part of the present, she walked out of the room and left him to his peace. That, and she wanted out of there before he could start asking questions on just how she knew what date his special day was on.

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"Fortaleza?"

"Brazil."

"Ankara?"

"Turkey."

"Jiddah?"

Saudi Arabia."

"Tehran?"

Nikita looked around, as if in hopes the answer would pop out at her. "Um...?"

"Iran," Michael replied emotionlessly. "Remember it, it's important. They're all important. Nairobi?"

"Kenya?"

"Correct."

Nikita felt completely worn out, her mind feeling like it was swelled to triple it's normal size. Michael kept quizzing her, making sure she had learned as much as she needed to.

"Keep going. Higher. Cochin?"

Nikita struggled to settle herself against the rock wall, now placed at the difficult level. "...um..."

"Focus, Nikita," Michael warned.

"I can't do all of this at once!"

Suddenly, she felt her harness lose some of it's tight wedge against her and the rope go slack. In her panic, she lost her footing and she suddenly went free falling down twenty feet, screaming at the top of her lungs the entire way.

When she finally jerked to a stop a few feet above Michael's head, she gripped wildly for the rocks. "What did you do that for?"

"You lost focus. So you fell. Now try again. Cochin?"

She'd just lost twenty feet on her progress. She was being timed on how quickly she could get up the wall and Michael hadn't restarted the clock after her fall. "India."

"Banjarmasin?"

Oh, if the women from the shower room could hear this lesson! The way Michael's tongue rolled over each name was like a graceful waterfall, enrapturing the mind and making the pulse kick up it's beat a little faster. And he wondered why it was hard for her to focus, on top of everything else! "South...Kalimantan? Indonesia."

"Wellington?"

"New Zealand."

"Which island?"

"...Sou-"

The rope loosened, but she dug her fingernails in to the tough rocks and held on tight. "North! North Island!"

"Which one is Auckland on?"

"North." She was pretty sure that was the correct answer, but kept her death grip anyway.

"Keep moving, Nikita. You're losing time. Christchurch?"

_I'll say! "_South." She knew this was correct, so she quickly scrambled up the wall as much as she could.

"Capitals of the States. Pennsylvania?"

"Philadephia."

"Maine?"

"Augusta."

"Florida?"

"Orlando?"

The rope slackened, making her fall ten feet before she grabbed on to the walls, bending back one of her nails.

"Tallahassee," he corrected. "Texas?"

She was caught in a difficult place, not sure how to climb upwards from here. "Houston." _We have a problem._

"Austin."

"How long until evaluation?" As if she didn't know.

"One week, Nikita. Climb. Toronto?"

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Another evaluation came and went. Nikita, worn out from the height portion of the test, let alone the physical challenges, laid in her bed, a small pillow under the arch of her back, another under her neck. She was exhausted.

The minutes ticked away until they amounted in to hours and midnight grew closer. Still no Michael. Still no word of pass or fail.

Nine months here. Nine. It seemed like a lifetime, like there was only fading ghosts of a past. This was her present. Her future. Her past of nine months. She wasn't sure how she felt about all that. Nevertheless, it was fact.

A knock at her door. Her heart stopped. Something she learned that in fact, it could do.

The door made way to show her mentor, holding something behind his back.

A breath of relief. At least that was something. She got to see Michael again. Every time she went in to Evaluation, she looked him over as well as she could, just in case.

In case she never had a chance to see him again.

Still, she wasn't in the clear.

"W-well?" she asked shakily, sitting up.

"You managed to pass," he said, deadpan. "You're here for another three months."

Her eyes lit. "I am?"

He nodded, ever so slightly. "You are. You worked hard and learned a lot. Your grades have risen. Operations was...surprised."

She had managed to surprise the supreme boss. That must have been a good sign.

The hand behind his back slowly came in to view, along with what was inside it. "Congratualations, Nikita. This has been your best evaluation as of yet. You show signs of improvement."

His words were sweet, but they didn't really register in her mind. All she cared about, was near panting for, was the heaping bowl of rocky road ice cream in a clear bowl, a long spoon sticking out. "Mine?" Her voice was dripping with lust. It didn't really matter if it was for her or not - Michael wasn't leaving this room with that.

"Yours," he clarified, handing it over.

She dug in to it with wild abandon, not caring when it dripped on her bare leg or left marks on the sides of her mouths. It had tasted just as delicious as it had when she was little, sitting in a parlor with a friend and scoffing down the cold goodness.

She stopped suddenly, spoon midway to mouth, and clapped her hand over her forehead.

Michael closed his eyes formy a moment with a small shake of his head. This was his material? He turned to leave so she could cutely disgrace herself in private. But he hadn't snuck away without her witnessing a tiny tug of the left corner of his lips.

She had made him smile. That was almost worth the blinding headache.

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	27. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

A/N: Ann, you're a pure delight! Thanks for all your reviews!

Sarah Cooke: Thanks alot - it's always great to have more readers telling me what they think!

DoctorMoon: Glad I could cheer up your day!

Angeloneous: I feel like an idiot - I knew that - I live in PA! But it was late at night and the story I'm writing at the same time takes place in Philly. Silly me!

I just finished a story so I'm writing as much as this as I can before I start writing the sequel to that other story. We'll see how far I can get!

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"I don't...understand," Nikita stampered.

Michael sighed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "You're going to learn how to go throughout the day on minimal to no food in case-"

"What do you mean, no food? It's pizza day!" she cried.

Well of course, that would be what she's concerned about. Not lessons that may save her in a few years, but the fact that they were serving pizza today. They had come so far, but still, close to no where over the last nine months.

"You'll drink a lot to stay hydrated. On field, if you have to practice this, you will probably not have a lot of water. But we'll pretend today that you do. You'll eat only what you'd normally have in your pack, which is very little. You're dismissed from the dojo and gym today as well."

Nikita listened to him without protesting, but she couldn't stop her pout from showing.

"Would you rather a few sparring sessions?" he asked in response.

Her eyes bulged as she shook her head wildly. "No!'

Another hard lesson. Another long day.

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Nikita carried her pout and her trusty water bottle that Michael had given her straight to Walter's.

"What's wrong, Sugar?" Walter asked, seeing her dismay.

Birkoff emerged from behind one of the aisles in back, wanting to hear of her latest torture. The boy seriously needed a new hobby.

"I'm missing Pizza Day because I'm not allowed to eat anything but these." She threw a few silver small packs of food on to the counter.

"Ah, field food. Yum." Walter wrinkled his nose, pushing the packs back to Nikita.

"I'm starving, but I 'have to savor these throughout the day'." She rolled her eyes and took a gulp of water. "Does this lesson ever come in handy?"

Birkoff's blank eyes told her that he'd never needed to use it. But with his pale skin, she wondered if he ever saw the outside of these strict walls.

But Walter assured her it was. "You never know what's going to happen in the field. It can get bad out there - any lessons Michael's willing to give you to prepare, you better take them and practice."

"So no pizza?"

"Is that all you can think about?" Birkoff complained, walking up to them.

"You better keep quiet or I'll raid your oreo stash. A starving body can get very desperate."

"How long has it been?" Walter asked, concerned.

"...Three hours."

Birkoff made a strange, strangled sound and walked away, Walter continued with his work.

"Hopeless," was the last she heard of the computer geek, leaving to most likely find a new finding space for his treats.

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By nightfall, Nikita was draped over her bed, listening to the rumblings of her stomach while the silver packaging, all that was left of her food stash, were littered around her. Five empty water bottles added to the mix, a full one in her hand. Her stomach felt like an ocean - if she moved, the rolling tide threatened to change course and make it's way upward.

Four hours ago, Walter had found her and slipped her a slice of pizza. God, he was sweet. The dough had helped to soak up some of the lonely water in her stomach, which she was greatful for, but it only made her taste buds ache for more.

She had tried to sleep through the hours, but she was restless, now used to a certain schedule for sleeping and when to be awake.

Staring at the clock, it was only two more hours until her fasting was over. Then she might be able to run down to the kitchen and find something left over to break her hunger headache.

If she had learned nothing else, it was that she definitely wasn't looking forward to field work. But Michael seemed to keep pushing her more and more towards it, taking her away from anything fun inside Madeline's place. He seemed very determined to get her out on the field as soon as possible, no matter how much she dreaded it. Couldn't he just find her a nice, quiet job? A secretary for Section, maybe? Though she did hate computers. Who wanted to turn in to a pale faced dork like Birkoff? Or worse, working under him? She was sure he'd take particular delight in that.

There was a knock at her door, shortly followed by it opening. It was Michael, who had something wrapped in aluminum foil. Something...triangular.

She quickly sat up, forgetting about her water - filled stomach, which lurked in complain. "Ooh...that doesn't feel good," she groaned, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Michael stood quietly and watched her for a moment before approaching further.

"I understand you usually have a very healthy appetite." Well, healthy wasn't exactly the right word. "Taking away food must have been harsh for you." He said it not as a question of her well being, but a statement.

He offered her the wrapped up triangle and she took it without hesitation. "What's this for?" she asked, not stopping for an answer before unwrapping it to spy the cheese pizza.

"Do you not want it?" he asked, putting his hand out to take it back.

She snatched it up and scooted farther back in to her bed. "No! No, I want it," she quickly assured.

"Then stop asking questions and eat. You'll need to be well rested and fed for tomorrow."

Did she dare ask? "What's tomorrow?"

He looked like he really didn't want to say the words, but did so anyway. "Driving."

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Michael wasn't really a religious man anymore, but for some reason he had a strong impulse to make the sign of the cross upon his body and fold his hands in prayer.

That was, before he nearly hit his head on the dash board. "No...sudden...stops," he said through clenched teeth.

She looked over at him, her mouth gaping. "Oh God, Michael I'm-"

"Watch the road!" He very rarely ever shouted, but this had just become one of those times.

Nikita swerved, missed the tree and the hilly bank, but nearly spun them in to a stop sign - which she didn't bother stopping for.

How would it look if Michael simply closed his eyes?

He took her arms at the elbow, digging his thumb in to a tender spot. It made her stiff-as-steel arm to relax. "Your posture must be calm. When you drive, your arms must be flexable, not like boards," he reminded her.

"I can't help it! I get nervous and then all my muscles bunch up and-"

"Stop sign," he interrupted, grabbing the side of the wheel to make her at least dodge it, if not stop.

"There's just so much to remember! Look ahead at anything coming out in the road. Look to the right to make sure you're not running in to parked cars. To the left to know you're still on your side of the road and not running in to oncoming cars. Don't look at the pedals, feel them. There's only two but I still can't remember which is which half the time! And then all these buttons and levers-"

"Come to a stop, Nikita."

She did so, but this time, Michael braced himself for the sudden stop so that his head wasn't sent through the window.

She looked at him, visibly upset. "Guess I'm not doing so well, am I?"

"You just need practice," He assured shakily. "A lot of practice."

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	28. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

_A quick A/N (I'm on the run, at the moment): Doctormoon: I did wonder about that aspect - if Nikita was homeless, wouldn't she already be used to not eating? But in the pilot, they show her eating a large pizza and looking very comfortable on the streets (with her surrounding, not that she actually looked like she was living the high life. lol). That image always left me feeling that she was probably a pretty good thief, or else she had connections and friends that were, and made sure that she wasn't going hungry. _

_And if that theory falls through, she's been living in Section for about ten months now. If she wasn't used to not eating before, she is now. If Section is good for anything, I trust they feed their operatives/recruits well._

_The reason that I had that in there was because I too had to train and figure out how to go without food for a few days. As it happens, I never had to do it because plans fell through, but I thought that it would be something they'd teach Nikita for when she was a field op._

_XxxxxxxxxX_

Nikita had thought she sweated a lot before. She now knew that previously, she hadn't even known the meaning.

She was in a gym that Michael had never shown her prior to this. It had benches and a few selected work out equipment pieces.

Standing on a blue mat in bare feet, she waited for her opponant to make his next move.

Michael was off to the side, a hand at his mouth, his eyes carefully observing.

He was cracking down on her, forcing her to learn the battling and sparring technics. This gym was special for operatives to practice in, and he had pitted her against selected level one ops, mostly newly graduated to their current status.

He had two ideas in mind when he thought up this plan. One was to make sure Nikita started to remember all her moves. Because now, if not, she was really going to get hurt. Operatives loved getting in to the game and relieving the stress of the day. He had one or two people in his selected mix that had just come home from a mission - they'd need something to calm them down from their adrenaline rush.

His other reason was to show Nikita how she could be. These men and women were only level ones, but most of them were good, their movements swift and precise. Much unlike her more clumsy, still street like ways. If he couldn't personally break her of the habit without causing her real physical damage, then maybe these people could. After all, they should be an inspiration to her, a testament to what she could - would - become.

As it was, recruits and operatives mingling was strictly forbiddened. There was a reason that Section had so many levels - to keep apart those who shouldn't be together. And in this case, operatives and recruits, as a general rule - weren't to mix.

Operatives often spoke of horrors. Most were fridged and angry - the others were just lying to themselves. Pretending that this wasn't real - the last two years were only a really bad nightmare that only got worse. Well, he wasn't going to burst their bubble. They'd wake up soon enough. Everyone did, sooner or later.

Nikita took a blow to the head, staggering backwards as her eyes bulged. She held the side of her head for a moment, then started to do her high kicks. And punches. Uppercuts. Many, not the way he had carefully taught her. But soon the operative was on the ground, moaning inaudible words.

Michael decided to interfere here. "What did you do wrong, Nikita?"

She rolled her eyes. "It wasn't the by-the-book way to do it, I know."

"Then why did you do it?" More than likely, it was just to torture him. She seemed to like that, whether she was conscious of it or not.

"I got mad."

Michael looked down at the man who was bleeding from his nose and nursing a swollen lip. "Get up."

The operative, though hurt, did what he said and stood. "Yes, sir?" Even new operatives knew who he was and how not to mess with him.

"Why did you let her beat you? You could have stopped her inexperienced moves."

The poor guy shrugged, looking back and forth between the two people who stood before him. Then he just stared at Nikita. "I don't know, sir."

"That's not good enough."

"I..."

"Would you like me to finish the job?" His words left a lot to the imagination, but his tone got the message across.

"I didn't want to really hurt her," he admitted quickly.

"Why?"

The man looked away, then back to Nikita. "Because she looked really bad when I hit her head. She's too pretty to really hurt, sir."

Nikita paid attention suddenly, her eyes glowing at the young man's words. She grinned, trying to hide it but not being able to. No one ever said that to her before. No man ever had much of a problem beating her around in her past.

"Go back to your station. Next?"

The smile vanished. _Next?_ There were more she'd have to fight? She was already exhausted and sweaty, her head pounding from the previous blow.

"Michael?" Her voice was close to a whimper.

He glared at her. "Yes?"

Swallowing, she shook her head. She might not be a graduated operative yet, but she knew enough already to not make him angrier when he had that look. Though she wasn't all that happy herself at the moment, when a man who looked to be over a foot taller than her and full of energy came bounding up to the mat...

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"Aww, Sugar. You okay?" Walter asked, taking her hand in his calloused one.

She frowned, placing her forehead on his shoulder. "If I'm really unlucky, I may live."

"Now don't go saying that. So you didn't do very well yesterday. You'll get better."

She shook her head, one eye pained and swollen, discolored from the previous night. "I don't think so, Walter. It's been nearly a year now. I'm just not catching on."

"You will," he insisted. "When you learn how much you need those skills, you'll start remembering them. You'll get good at them. And then you can go back to that guy who did this to you and beat the hell out of him."

A wobbly smile. Well, that was better.

"You'll get through this. And remember - if you need any comfort to heal those wounds, you let me know, you hear?"

She let out a giggle. "Sure, Walter."

Birkoff must have been feeling merciful today, because the only thing he did when he saw her in passing was snicker to himself, omitting his words and nicknames from her hearing range.

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Michael let her go to Madeline's that day, where she learned how to carefully put on just enough make up to hide facial bruises.

"You don't want too much foundation or it will be noticable. There's nothing worse than a clot of make up in the middle of your cheek. You might as well just wear the blue and purple, for that matter."

She promised that as soon as Nikita got shot, she'd teach her how to delicately cover those up too, especially if it left a bad scar behind.

Well, if that wasn't something to look forward to, what was?

"How are you feeling?" Michael asked when she sat on her bed that night, carefully washing the make up from her bruises and scrapes.

"Alright." As if she'd give him the satisfation of knowing she hurt like hell. She had grown somewhat, after all. Through all this time, whatever pride or scrap of dignity she might have left, she was determined to keep hold of it.

"Are you hurting much?" He came closer, admiring her shiner.

"No."

He knew she was lying but didn't press. If she wanted to try and pull off a bad ass tough attitude, more power to her. She'd need to learn how to improve that in to a strength later on. The sooner she started to practice it, the better. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly looking forward to listening to her aches and complaints against him either. If she could keep her temper down occasionally, he wouldn't tempt her to do the opposite.

"Wine helps ease the ache and calms the mind," he stated instead.

"I'm not allowed to have alcohol in training."

"Or on the job."

"So what were you saying that for?" She looked at him quizzically.

"Future reference."

So he wasn't going to sneak her in some wine to help. He might have gotten her these pains, but he wouldn't go that far in to soothing them.

"Well, as educational and comforting this conversation is, I'm terribly tired. Could this wait until the morning?"

He stayed rooted, watching as she threw the wash rag she had been using into her laundry basket, then tuck in to bed. It was only after she turned off the light that he turned to leave.

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Nikita woke up with a bittersweet smile on her face. She hadn't remembered it yesterday or the day before, but her mind was already telling her what day it was while she still slept.

Her memories of past birthdays floated before her closed eyes, saddening visions of her poor childhood.

But she was no longer living with her mother and one of her boyfriends. Or on the streets. She was in Section...where no one knew it was her day. Where no one celebrated birthdays. Where parties were unheard of.

She pitied Birkoff. He must have been here for a while now, being so young and yet so high up on the Section food chain. Did he know what a birthday party was? It was a pity he didn't get to celebrate when he was still so young, but then again, she never got to either.

Getting up, she crossed the cold floor in her bare feet, fetching a bright yellow shirt to put on. Something cheerful - even if no one else knew what day it was, she did. She should have something to show for it.

She put her hair in an extra high, playful ponytail and donned some glittery make up. There, that cut some of her depression of the day. It was more than she had ever had before.

She slipped on her broken down converses without bothering with socks, then spent the next ten minutes taking the white little pills from her dark pants.

By this time, Michael would probably be getting ready to send a search party out for her, so she left her room and ran up the stairs.

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She made an angry face at Michael from across the Operatives Gym. She hurt. Her shiny make up was now smeared all over. Her bright yellow shirt now had brown and bright red spots over it - a mix of dry and fresh blood.

She was no longer feeling so cheerful anymore. In fact, she felt downright miserable.

And now there was a man standing in front of her - a big man that towered over her and had muscles the size of her head.

_Please, Michael? _She begged with her eyes to take her away from this. She didn't want to fight any more.

But he looked away, crossing the room to go speak with a particularly beautiful woman. He hadn't sent her in to fight Nikita. No, he smiled at her. Talked to her.

Leaving her to fend for herself.

"Look, it's my birthday. If you wouldn't mind taking it easy on me-" Her whispered words fell upon deaf ears as a punch flung from the big man, sending her sprawling on her back. Again.

She groaned, flashing an evil eye at Michael. He looked over his shoulder just as the woman with him laughed. He surveyed her situation, then looked away again.

Some mentor he was being today.

"You getting up?" the large man standing before her asked.

She tried to offer a shrug, but it turned in to a wince. She wasn't sure if she was capable of standing and she certainly didn't _want_ to.

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Nikita sat on top of the drying machine, willing tears to stay and her hands to stop shaking.

Today was hard and stressful. Everyone's ignorance of her birthday reminded her of her own mother's forgetfulness. Memories plagued her as Michael beat down lessons. Between the two of them, her nerves were worn down to the quick.

She scrubbed her yellow shirt, trying desperately to get the blood out. She wore a black tank top now to match her dark pants, her outfit once again a reflection of her mood.

The blood wasn't coming out. She scrubbed harder, but it only made the tears fall. Finally, she threw the shirt down in the sink beside her, then buried her face in her knees.

She always knew Section wasn't easy. She had just hoped that she wouldn't have to deal with these feelings, left over from her childhood.

Isolation. Abandonment. Ignorance. Misery.

She wanted someone who knew everything about her. Who cared enough to want to know. Who stuck beside her, smiled at her. Was glad to have her around.

Instead, she was spending her night in a laundry mat, sitting on a drying machine, her only comforting noise as it hummed it's way through it's cycles.

She hadn't heard him come in, but then again, she never did. She eventually felt the box, pushed over by the vibrating washing machine, against her thigh.

A white box, only an inch or two thick, a foot or so long.

She put it in her lap, closing her eyes. What could it be?

She suddenly didn't care. Ripping it open, feeling the need to rise from beneath these heavy, crushing feelings, she pushed away a few layers of tissue paper to see pink ribbed material.

Pink shirts, a few sizes bigger than her own. Two tank tops, a long sleeved shirt, another shirt - this one a button down.

Pink shirts that were once white.

At the very bottom of the box was a note.

_Happy Birthday_

He knew. He had known all along and hadn't mentioned a word. But he had made up for it now, gifting her with his own shirts, despite them being her mistakes.

So he hadn't wanted to wear them. But he had, right after she had accidently dyed them. To prove that it was no big deal. After a day or two, she had forgotten all about it and never noticed the absense of his newly pink shirts.

He gave them to her now, to add to her wardobe. To show he cared, at least in some way. That he hadn't abandoned her.

A ray of sunshine pierced through her misery and reached her, all the way down through the few hundred feet of ground. Just for her, on the last minutes if her birthday.

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	29. Author's Note

_Author's Note:_

I'm terribly sorry that I've seemingly abandoned my beloved fandom, especially when I'm in the middle of a story that I've promised to finish.

I have excuses, of course. Work, a broken computer. National Novel Writing Month approaching rapidly. But I'm here to say that as long as I have my computer (which needs to go in to the shop at _some point - _though I don't know when that might be) I will be working on my LFN stories again.

Today I've been going through my oneshots and correcting them. As I'm sure everyone has noticed, I have terrible grammar. I've been working on ambolishing that and erasing any trace that it ever were. However, seeing that I have so many oneshots, that's quite a lot of work, though nothing compared to all the long chapters in Recruit, which I will be correcting also, while I begin trying to write the story again.

In short, you'll be hearing from me more often than as of late, seeing that I was non-existant around here for a few months.

**-K.S.**


	30. XXX

A/N: I'm very glad to know I was missed!! I'm still trying to get back on track and in to the mind set of this story, so this chapter may not be up to par, but there's more to come.

* * *

"Cancel her."

The words echoed through the interior walls of his stunned brain.

"But sir-"

"She's not doing as well as we hoped. She had potential, but she's not following through with it. It's been a year now, Michael. She should be much farther than this. It would only be cruel to her, to drag her along further just to cancel her later on when she's close to completion."

No, it wasn't true. The words made sense, but not when said against Nikita. His material.

The image of her innocent, doe eyes came to him, clear as a bell. The picture expanded to see her frightened, all her true fears confirmed, awaiting the gun shot that would end her life.

He could see her lifeless body, cold to the touch. An innocence destroyed.

Michael had seen horrible things in his life. More than any one man should. But this was something he couldn't tolerate.

He was failing Nikita. He was failing. She was going to pay.

"Nikita has a year left to learn. I'd like to have that. I'll return to missions, if you'd like. I'll work with her in my spare time-"

"You mean your family time?" Operations asked, pointedly. "I won't have you ruining our set up with Vachek for this failing recruit, Michael."

What did Operations expect from him? To turn in to a machine that needed no sleep and could just keep going on hard work? He had to do something, but the outlook was growing dim.

"I'll figure something out."

"Tell me, Michael. Why are you so concerned for this girl? She doesn't heed your warnings or take you seriously. She doesn't learn her lessons or improve in any way. She's rebellious, selfish and uncaring for any of our ways. Plainly, she doesn't belong and you should be able to see that clearly. Why is it that you refuse? I could take her off you hands. You can return to your normal work. Have more time to raise your new son and tend to your wife. That's what you want, is it not? Why keep fighting for a girl who doesn't deserve your attention?"

Michael didn't answer that. Truthfully, he didn't know how to. Operations was correct in what he said. He did want more time with his family. To have his schedule be not as hectic as this last year's had been. He was being handed the opportunity to have what he wanted - and here he was, fighting against it. Against Operations, against the selfish will to indulge in his wish.

"May I have the year to finish what I begun?" he asked instead, side stepping the original question.

Operations didn't look happy in the slightest as he stared back at the prized pupil. "Unless she fails an evaluation," he finally decided.

Well, that was a start. All Michael had to do was keep Nikita alive for one more year, and then she was in charge of her own fate. He had made it this far, maybe he could finish the rest of the way.

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Walter watched Michael pace, not bothering to hide his interest in the strange actions. Birkoff was a bit more fearful from his spot next to the munition's worker, but had to sneak peeks as well.

"He's been at it for twenty minutes now, Walter. What do you think he wants?"

The older man shrugged with a grunt. "I don't know, but I'm sure he's not happy about whatever it is."

"You think it's about Nikita?"

Walter looked over at the smirking teen, a frown set upon his own face. "I doubt we'd be lucky enough to have it be about anything else."

With that said, Walter left the young computer tech and walked towards the silent but deadly man.

Michael watched him approach, supressing a groan. He'd been pacing here, waiting to gather the courage that wouldn't come. He knew that both Walter and Birkoff had been talking about him, probably laughing at his inability to admit weakness and ask for help.

"Is there something you need, Michael?"

Michael side glanced at the curious creature. Took a breath. "I need your help."

Walter was taken aback, but quickly recovered. "Anything in particular?"

He looked over at Birkoff, who was hiding in Munitions still. "I'll need Birkoff, too."

This sounded serious and worrisome. Walter beckoned for Birkoff to come over, then awaited their sentence.

"I just received orders from Operations. To...to cancel Nikita." Did he just stumble on his words? Show weakness in the plainest way?

Birkoff looked surprised. Walter, shocked and immediately grieved. "You're...you can't do that. Not yet. She passed her evaluations-"

"Operations believes she's a waste of resources and time. But I managed to give her another chance - if she steps up on her work, she may survive a few more months. I can't catch her up on all the work."

"I can dedicate more time to her lessons. I'll work around her schedule," Walter was quick to step in.

"What should I do?" Birkoff asked, seemingly still lost in this conversation.

"Teach her computers. How to hack, how to memorize the basics. Knowing how to type would be a good start."

"I suppose I could work a few late nights to squeeze her in."

Michael stood back, looking at his new team. He couldn't say he was very pleased with this situation - from Nikita's lacking to his own - but he did have a team. And that meant hope for the following year.

"Good," he finally said with a nod, walking towards his office. He'd have to have an in-depth conversation with Nikita at some point, but decided to forgo it for the evening. He had enough drama today - he wasn't sure if he could stand all of hers.

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"Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Ni...Nikita?"

Nikita sprawled on the floor, shaking her head. "I can't do any more," she protested.

"You've only completed eight, none which were proper. You have to step it up, Nikita."

Her face scrunched in her dismay as she looked up at him. "Push ups really aren't my thing, Michael."

"Nothing here seems to be '_your thing'!_" he practically roared in her face.

She shuffled away from him, looking confusied and frightened. "M-Michael?"

"Every day, Nikita, I come in here. Promise myself that I'll be patient with you. That I'll do everything in my power to train you the way Section requires. Every day, you seem to have the same level of determination to prove to me that you are not trainable."

She frowned deeply, pulling herself in to a sitting position. "That's not true."

"No? It certainly seems that way to me. And I'm not the only one who thinks it."

That made a shiver run through her. "Who...who else?"

He crossed his arms. "Operations. He approached me yesterday. Gave me your death warrent. Told me to kill you."

Her expressive blue eyes widened, tears instantly forming and overflowing. "I'm...I'm cancelled?" she wailed as the streams ran down her face.

"No. But you are so close Nikita, that I'm surprised you can't taste the bullet. You have to listen to me. Do as I say. Walter and Birkoff have agreed to help you. Now you have to do the work and allow us to do that. If not...you won't be here in two and a half months. Sooner, if no improvement is shown. This isn't about Evaluations anymore. It's about being on your guard, twenty four seven, no matter where you are or who you're with. That's how real Operatives act. Like their life is on the line at all times. Like each second that ticks off the clock is one closer to their untimely death. I told you before that you should start thinking like an operative. Now you must."

She bit her lip to try and make it stop trembling. Just another thing she failed to accomplish. "I don't know what to do," she replied honestly. How could she change completely, just like that? How? In to what?

"I have all the answers you need to survive this next year. All you need to do Nikita, is allow me to tell you them. For you to memorize and learn by. Listening to me is your cheat sheet around here. It doesn't get any simplier than that, I guarentee it."

He handed her a tissue, something he seemed to always carry when he was around her, and waited until she scrubbed away the mess her panic had created.

"Will you let me help you from now on?" he persisted, hoping that this time he'd get through to her.

She looked up at him, her usually fair skin now a dark red. He offered a hand and she took it, soon standing before him and nodding.

"I will."

Good, that was a start. He'd have to keep up on the scare tactics now, for they all too easily slipped her mind after enough time lapsed. But at least she promised to try. That was something, wasn't it?

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End file.
